


One More Night

by Autobratty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Homelessness, Jealousy, M/M, Pre-War AU, Starvation, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Strangers to Lovers, Vomiting, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2018-12-16 01:45:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 36,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11818614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autobratty/pseuds/Autobratty
Summary: Pre-War AU where Drift and Hot Rod cross paths, changing their lives forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Running with my roots pulled up_  
>  _Caught me cold so they could cut_  
>  _What there was left of love_  
>  _I'm rootless_  
>  (Marina & The Diamonds, “Rootless”)

Hot Rod had been driving for longer than he’d ever driven before. Just how long he’d been driving, he wasn’t exactly sure - his internal chronometer was busted - but it had been a _long_ time. In fact, he had driven so far and for so long that he had long passed the city limits of his hometown, Nyon, and was now careening through the middle of nowhere as fast as he could go.

He was pretty sure the enforcers chasing him had given up, but Hot Rod knew that he had to get out of Nyon, at least for a little while, to let law enforcement (what little there was) forget about him. Hot Rod wasn’t a fugitive, nor a hardened criminal - he simply was protecting his people. The refuse of Nyon, leakers and skivs and even the addicts, were the only family he’d ever known. He stole energon, medical supplies, and anything else his people needed to survive. He’d lined the city with remote-detonation bombs that could only be activated by him; if there was trouble, he could set off a charge to get rid of the troublemakers.

Nyon was a rough place, to say the least. But it was Hot Rod’s home, and its citizens were his to protect. It was excruciatingly difficult for him to keep driving, as fast as he could, without casting a backwards glance.

\--

Having definitely lost the enforcers by now, Hot Rod had begun to slow somewhat. His tanks were extremely low - not like they’d been full when the chase had begun - and his tires were bald from driving so long on the rough, craggy terrain. He’d begun to worry that he would collapse and shut down right there in the middle of nowhere and be left to rust under the stars when he noticed light in the distance off to his right.

Light could mean either salvation or trouble, but at this point, his tanks pinging him insistently that he was almost running on empty, heading towards that light could spell his life or death.

Without another thought, Hot Rod gunned his engine, speeding as fast as he could towards that little point of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are much appreciated. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No one to wonder when I'll be home_   
>  _One more night stoned alone_   
>  _Ever-increasing notches on my belt_   
>  _I want to feel more than just sorry for myself  
>  _(Crywank, “Notches”)__

Drift was curled up in a cold, wet corner of a dark back alley, tripping on circuit boosters. He’d learned a lesson since his encounter with Sonic, Boom, and an enforcer: he should keep himself well hidden away so as to not be attacked or arrested while getting high.

For a little while, the dreary, dangerous world melted away into the fantasyland induced by the boosters. It was a place beyond Drift’s wildest dreams - a sparkling city, blue and chrome and gold, where no one was left to fall between the cracks of society. He wasn’t a _somebody_ \- no one of significant importance - but he was just a regular mech, living a regular, peaceful life. That was all he wanted, really: Someplace safe to sleep, a full tank, a clean frame, and a _purpose_. Despite trying to distract himself with drugs and…other things, Drift was acutely aware of the fact that he had no reason to be alive. There was nothing for him to look forward to, no cause to dedicate himself to, no one that would miss him if he was gone.

If Gasket were still alive, he’d have cared. But last week - only a week ago! - he’d been killed, for no reason other than trying to diffuse a tense situation. An enforcer panicked, shot Gasket, and Drift had retaliated, killing three enforcers. Now he was worse than Rodion’s refuse; he was a fugitive.

However, as Drift basked in the glow of his dreamworld, he wasn’t thinking about such things. He wouldn’t have to until the boosters burnt out, and then…well, he always felt even worse afterwards, but it was worth it to have escaped to heaven for at least a little while.

Sometimes, he debated whether or not he should kill himself. He wasn’t sure if the Afterspark was real, and he was even less sure that he wouldn’t wind up in the Pit instead - he’d done things that he was sure would make Primus cross him off from the Scroll of Life. Even if it wasn’t real, and all that would happen was for his corpse be left to rust in the gutters, at least he’d finally be at peace.

But Drift was never that kind of person. He was a fighter, a survivor, down to his very core. He’d do whatever it took to stay alive.

\--

The boosters had started to wear off, and Drift was coming to.

Oh, how his head hurt. He winced and rubbed at one of his finials, something he often did to try to calm himself down and alleviate the pain. Curling himself into an even tighter ball, Drift figured that since he’d expended so much energy during his boost that he should probably get some recharge, so he wouldn’t have to scrounge up some fuel again while he was still feeling like scrap. Plus, sleeping off any sort of pain was better than sitting around and waiting it out.

Drift grabbed a rusty, twisted piece of sheet metal that was just across from him and pulled it over his frame as best as he could, for a little extra protection and as a shield from the moisture dripping from above - who knew what chemicals could be in there? It could start to corrode his plating as he slept.

Sleep. What a wonderful idea.

Drift quickly fell into a light, restless recharge - one could never sleep deeply in the gutters, not when there were countless enforcers, bleeders, siphoners, and even common thieves that were so desperate that they’d resort to stealing plating and even body parts. However, any scrap of recharge one could get was far better than none at all.

His last thoughts before succumbing to the siren’s song of recharge was something Gasket had told him to think about every night; something that had kept the optimistic mech going as long as he had.

_Maybe tomorrow will be better._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In a way, I need a change_  
>  _From this burnout scene_  
>  _Another time, another town_  
>  _Another everything_  
>  (O.A.R., “Shattered”)

Turns out, the source of light was one of the dimmest places Hot Rod had ever seen (not that he’d seen many bright places in the first place).

From a distance, it was a bright light, offering shelter, energon, and maybe even a little hope. Upon closer inspection, it was a great city, with towering heights and shimmering structures that gleamed in the starlight. But upon reaching the city limits, Hot Rod realized that the glistening buildings and bright lights were located in the center of the establishment, levels above. Where he had arrived was far from glamorous.

Nearly congruous with Nyon in its disrepair, Hot Rod found himself in Rodion’s Dead End.

Although it was hard to see much in the dimly-lit alleyways, he could tell the place was beyond rundown. Rust crawled up the walls of abandoned buildings; there were places where acid had eaten away from the structures as well. The ground was covered in a fine layer of rust and dirt as well, littered with trash, broken machine parts, and scraps of metal from who-knows-what and, quite possibly, who-knows-who. Hot Rod kicked an empty can of Nightmare Fuel out of his way as he plodded along.

The mecha inhabiting the area looked just as worse for wear as their surroundings. Hot Rod was dirty, dented and scuffed up, but these mecha made him look like a shining jewel in comparison. He saw bots with cracked plating that exposed the vulnerable wiring and protoform beneath, paint peeling off their frames in swathes. Dents and even open wounds seemed to be the least of their problems.

Hot Rod passed a noisy, crowded bar, trying to keep his distance from the mech purging his tanks in the mouth of the adjacent side alley; his slight detour, of course, leading him straight into a gaggle of buymechs.

“Hey there,” one drawled in a heavy Kaonian accent, stepping in front of him and reaching down to cup Hot Rod’s chin, tilting it up to look into his optics through his own orange visor. “I’m Lightwave. Haven’t seen you around here before, hot stuff… You new in town?” The mech, a grounder with door wings and a matte black paint job accented by bright magenta biolights, smirked and trailed his hand down Hot Rod’s neck.

The smaller mech cleared his throat, carefully removing the other’s hand from his frame. “S-sorry,” he stammered, tearing his gaze away and trying to push past the buymech. “I don’t have any credits on me,” he replied lamely, although not a lie - Hot Rod hadn’t a single shanix to his name.

The buymech pouted, but recovered instantly when another passerby came into his line of vision, and when he and the others flocked to the newcomer, Hot Rod took the opportunity to get out of there.

It seemed like the further he walked, deeper into the heart of the Dead End, the darker and grimier it became. The mechs here looked beyond hungry and worn down: they looked sick. There were mechs with plating too large for their frames, a token of weight loss from hunger - and without having access to a smaller set of armor, the larger, heavier plating would be uncomfortable at best. The worst case scenario would be the protoform becoming too weak to support the larger armor plates and them collapsing in on the bot, effectively immobilizing them or even possibly killing them. A couple of them wandered around, a blissed-out look on their faces, their minds obviously a million miles away from their frames. But possibly the worst thing that Hot Rod saw was when he was making his way down a back alley, hoping to avoid the riffraff on the main street (if you could even call it that) and find someplace vaguely safe to get some rest, and he tripped over a large slab of sheet metal.

As Hot Rod huffed and winced from his sudden contact with the solid ground, a moan emitted from under the sheet metal. The speedster started, scrambling back slightly. After a few moments without any further movement or noises, Hot Rod crept back towards it before very, very carefully peering underneath it.

Curled up under the metal tarp was a mech who looked as if he was in a coma. His optics were dim and fritzing, and the way his joints looked locked up suggested that he was at least momentarily paralyzed. Hot Rod then noticed the circuit booster atop the other mech’s head, sparking dangerously. If left in, the booster could potentially catch fire or even explode.

From taking care of his neighbors back in Nyon, Hot Rod had seen about everything, and knew that this mech was in great danger. He gritted his dentae as he pulled the dead weight out from underneath the sheet metal, laying the other mech down flat on his back before very, VERY carefully removing the booster - forceful removal could result in serious, irreparable processor damage.

It then occurred to Hot Rod that he didn’t know this mech; the mecha around here were not the ones back in Nyon. He didn’t know if this mech would come to and promptly kill him, which was not too far-fetched of a concern. However, it was in Hot Rod’s nature to want to take care of others, so with a sigh, he hefted the larger mech up into his arms. He had to find someplace safe for him to recover.

Hot Rod struggled along, the other mech being significantly larger than him, not only weighing him down but obscuring most of his view, so he hardly had an idea of where he was walking. His fans were cycling at full blast as his frame tried to pull in air as he desperately searched for shelter.

\--

Finally, he had to put the unconscious mech down. Hot Rod fell to his knees, panting heavily as he stared at the prone form before him. He looked as if he was dead; were it not for the slight rise and fall of his chassis, Rod would’ve thought him to be as such.

The small speedster shook his head at himself. What was he doing? He was on the run from the authorities, lost in a faraway city, and yet he continued to put others before himself. Why couldn’t he just worry about his own needs? Surely it wasn’t the first time this mech had blacked out in a back alley.

Hot Rod kept trying to reason with himself as he dragged the limp mech across a vacant lot, and then pulled him into what appeared to be a small abandoned shed of sorts.

At last they were out of plain sight, and Hot Rod could finally rest. Before collapsing on the floor of the shed, he propped up the stranger in a corner. He knew better than to fall asleep - the fact that he saved this mech’s life might not mean anything to the mech in question at all, and even though he had no weapons, he could still kill Rod in his sleep - so he settled for curling up on the opposite of the shed. It was small enough that even balled up as he was, the toes of the sprawled-out legs of the other mech brushed against his plating. He didn’t mind; he was used to cramped spaces full of far more people. In fact, Hot Rod found it comforting to have others around him - back in Nyon they used to sleep in piles, both for warmth and protection. Being alone made him feel vulnerable and frightened, and Hot Rod didn’t like it one bit.

At least he had the warmth of the nearby stranger to feed off of, as slight as it was. And although he knew better, Hot Rod found himself drifting off into a deep sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Here in these deep city lights_  
>  _I could get lost tonight_  
>  _I'm finding every reason to be gone_  
>  _Nothing here to hold on to_  
>  _Could I hold onto you?_  
>  (Sara Bareilles, “City”)

When Hot Rod awoke, the stranger was still at his side, sleeping soundly. Although there wasn’t a whole lot of light filtering through the holes in the roof of their shelter, he could still get a better look at the mech now that it was daytime.

By the looks of it, he was both taller and older than Hot Rod - although not by much on either measure. He had the frame of a speedster, dull black and dingy white, and unusual-shaped finials on each side of his head. He looked even more malnourished than Rod, whose tank contracted at the thought of fuel - he’d used up all of what was in his tank the previous night. Fortunately, he had a bit of energon in his subspace…but not enough to fuel them both.

Well, that just wouldn’t do. The mech was injured on top of being starved and drugged, and if he didn't get properly fueled, it could spell his demise.

In the dim morning light, Hot Rod slipped away, unnoticed, to obtain some energon. Hopefully the sleeping mech would still be there when he came back.

\--

When Hot Rod returned, the sorry-looking mech was _still_ asleep, and the scarlet speedster was beginning to worry. However, his concern was short-lived, because within the hour the other mech began to stir. When he did, Hot Rod backed away to give him some space; waking up to a stranger hovering over you would be unsettling at best.

The other mech moaned and shifted his stiff shoulders, raising his hands to rub at his optics. When he opened them, he was surprised to see a roof - a real one - over his head. He sat up a little too quickly, and immediately gagged. He leaned over to his side and purged. 

“Aw, scrap, dude! You got puke all over me!”

Nauseous as he was, the addict’s head shot up in fear, and he scrambled backwards until his back hit the wall.

“GAH! Don't… don't touch me!”

Hot Rod frowned, trying in vain to wipe the purged energon from his plating. “Well, that's no way to treat a mech who saved your life.”

“I… what?”

The smaller mech crawled closer, but when the stranger flinched, he stopped and sighed, sitting back on his knees. “Listen, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Hot Rod said in his most gentle voice. “I found you last night curled up in some back alley, overdosing on circuit boosters. You were in pretty bad shape. Still are,” he continued, gesturing to the other’s battered frame. The worse-for-wear mech grunted and curled in on himself a bit.

“Here, I got you some energon. It’ll help.”

He held out the cube, and the other mech shrunk back on himself even more. The sincere offer earned a Hot Rod a skeptical look. “Why?”

“Well, you look more than half-starved, for starters, and-”

“No no no. I mean, why are you helping me? It's every mech for themselves out there. Why are you wasting your time and resources on me?”

Hot Rod frowned. “Uh, I dunno. This is just how things are done where I’m from.” He stared down into the cube of energon. “Nobody cares about us, so we take care of each other.” He shrugged a little and looked back up. “Here, look, it’s safe.” Hot Rod took a small sip of the cube before trying to hand it over again, and with great caution, the other mech took it from him, slowly when reaching out, and then snatching it out of the smaller mech’s hand as if Hot Rod might change his mind at the last minute. 

Hot Rod’s face lit up in a wide grin, and the dingier of the two hid his face against his cube, a light blush dusting his cheeks. Smiling was a rarity around here, and Drift could only think of one mech that he'd ever seen smile genuinely. Grimaces, for sure, and the sick, twisted grins of syphoners, perverts, and corrupt enforcers, but a genuine smile?

Besides, no one should have the right to possess such a cute smile.

Once Drift was satisfied that the energon was safe, he shamelessly chugged it down. Hot Rod laughed, “That's the spirit!” As the red mech cracked open his own cube, Drift thought about asking where the energon had come from, but thought better of it. It wasn't his business how a mech was able to fuel himself. 

“So, umm… you got a name?”

The smaller of the two was caught off-guard by the genuine question. “Hot Rod of Nyon,” he replied with a small smile.

The other balked. “Nyon? Wow. You're… quite a ways from home, huh?”

“Heh… yeah. I was, um, trying to escape law enforcement, and I guess my wheels carried me away a little too far.”

“No wonder you're bald AND flat,” the guttermech replied, poking one of Hot Rod’s worn-down tires.

“Aw, scrap… I can't drive that far like this!”

A shrug. “Well, tires are expensive, and you can only get them in the city. Guess you'll be stuck here for a while.”

Hot Rod moaned miserably and put his head in his hand that wasn’t holding his energon.

“I’m Drift, by the way. Drift of Rodion.”

Hot Rod looked up in surprise, and his smile returned. “Drift,” he repeated, as if tasting the name. “It's nice to meet you, Drift.”

Drift blinked. Had anyone ever said that to him before?

Well. There was Gasket.

Come to think of it, this mech was a lot like his old friend. Giving, friendly, optimistic to a fault. But those were all qualities that led to Gasket getting killed. It was less than a month ago, and the wound was still fresh.

Gasket believed in helping one another, too. 

“You… remind me of someone. A friend I had. He's… he's gone now.”

Just thinking of Gasket’s passing made Drift sick. Hot Rod was about to say something when Drift retched again, purging everything he’d just drank, and he thought better of it. They could talk later.

He grasped Drift by his shoulder and used his free hand to gently push him back, forcing him to lay down again. “Okay, clearly you need more rest. You nearly overdosed; your systems are way overtaxed.” His voice softened. “I'll watch over you while you sleep.”

All Drift could do was nod dumbly, letting the other lie him down.

Once Drift had powered down, Hot Rod reached out to tentatively stroke one of the other’s finials. It twitched in his hand, but Drift didn’t stir, so he continued the soothing motions. 

“Sleep soundly, Drift of Rodion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I'd give y'all a chapter before I go away for vacation :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Treat me like a stained mattress_  
>  _Rest your body on my body_  
>  _Let me feel the weight of your existence_  
>  _So I know what purpose feels like_  
>  _And I'll lie patiently, waiting for a kiss_  
>  (Flatsound, “A Morning Spent Thinking About A Life Without You”)

Having no way of getting back home, Hot Rod had to stay in Rodion. Drift didn’t have anywhere safer to hide away, and he had to admit, it was kind of nice to have someone else around, even if he was constantly looking over his shoulder, worried that one day he’d find a knife in it.

And so, with nothing better to do and nowhere better to go, Hot Rod and Drift stuck together, hidden away in their rickety little shed.

As the days went by, they fell into a rhythm. Drift felt like crap that Rod would risk arrest, procuring energon and supplies for the two of them, while he sat around and tried to not think about going out to find drugs. He decided to be useful and sell his frame for a couple hours each day at the nearest Relinquishment Clinic before making his way back to their secluded little shed. The “job” was gross and seedy and he knew that one day he might never be reunited with his body, but it paid well, and while Hot Rod was uncomfortable with it, he didn’t protest. It was Drift’s frame and he could do with it what he wanted, and a little extra shanix meant they could buy some of the things they needed rather than resort to stealing.

The best part of the day was when Drift would come home, dented and dirty - the clinics don’t clean the frames after use, let alone offer compensation for injuries, however minor - and Rod would clean him up as best as he could. They share energon, and lie down while they talk about their days; well, moreso Hot Rod talks about his, since Drift’s had his spark locked away for most of the day. 

As they were laying down to go to sleep one particularly cold night, Drift shivered. Hot Rod, knowing how speedsters like them chill easily, wrapped his arms around Drift’s freshly scrubbed frame. He went shock still, his breath catching as he felt small hands slide over his armor. “Is this okay?” Hot Rod whispered, concern coloring his voice. “Back home we all sleep in kind of a pile to share warmth.”

After some serious consideration, Drift didn’t turn around to reach out but whispered consent. “O… Okay.”

It was still hard for him, learning to trust this mech, but if he was going to hurt or kill him, he probably would’ve done so already. Nobody waited a whole week to dispose of a guttermech.

Hot Rod smiled and cuddled closer, spooning him (even though his frame was smaller than Drift’s). Spark whirling faster in his chassis, Drift became acutely aware of Hot Rod pressing ever closer to him, and when he felt a hot exhale on one of his finials, he barely stopped himself from shuddering. Even Gasket never _held_ him like this… he wasn’t sure what to think of it, but he liked it. No one had ever touched him so wholly, held him so closely, and he thought to himself that he could get used to it before falling asleep in the other’s arms.

\--

The next evening, as Hot Rod was cleaning up Drift’s dirty and dented frame, Rod told him that he worries about him. Drift looked up in surprise and confusion. “You worry? About me…? Why?” 

Hot Rod shrugged, spoiler flicking as he wrung out the filthy rag before dipping it back into the murky solvent of the wash bucket. “Well, when you care about someone, you worry about them. Right?”

Drift’s head spun. He’d known this mech for… what? A week? Less? More? It was hard to keep track when your days consisted of very little conscious time. He settled for shaking his head, even though Hot Rod couldn’t see him, preoccupied with a gritty spot in Drift’s knee joint.

“Hot Rod.”

The smaller mech finally looked up, somewhat sheepishly. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine.” Rod nodded slowly, “Yeah… I guess. You’re a big mech; you can take care of yourself.” Hot Rod barked a laugh that fell flat.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them as Rod continued working on Drift’s frame. He was nearly done, trying to pop a dent out of Drift’s shin guard, when he peeped, “…Do you… worry about me?”

After a moment, Drift slowly sat up straight, and stared intensely down at the other. Rod stood with a concerned frown. “Drift…?”

Drift stood up as well, so that he could look down into the bright blue eyes of the smaller mech who’d practically fallen into his miserable life, and made it all a little less difficult to bear. He placed a hand over Hot Rod’s chassis, directly over his spark, before slowly brushing his fingers up his chest and neck until he was cupping crimson bot’s chin. Hot Rod’s eyes widened as his chin was tipped up and Drift’s face moved slowly towards his own, giving him plenty of time to break away if he so desired. Instead, Rod let his optics slide shut and the two of them kissed one another softly.

After a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, Drift pulled back slightly to whisper against Hot Rod’s lips, “Of course I worry about you. You saved my life, and then selflessly continue to make sure I’m in decent shape every day. You risk yourself going out in the streets to get energon and other scrap we end up needing that I probably wouldn’t have even bothered with otherwise. You genuinely care about what happens to me. You give me something to live for.”

He pressed another soft kiss to Hot Rod’s parted lips before whispering, “I barely know you, but I feel like we’ve been together forever. It sounds kinda lame, but...it's like you fill some void in me that I didn’t even know was there. So,” he concluded, “to answer your question: Duh. Of course I worry about you, you moron.”

Rod’s spark absolutely melted. He initiated the next kiss, pulling Drift down with him onto the old stained mattress he’d found in a dumpster two days ago (it was better than sleeping on the ground at least, even if the small twin-size took up most of the floorspace in the shed). They kissed unhurriedly, Drift rolling them over so Hot Rod was atop him. He wrapped his arms around the other’s tiny orange waist as he flicked Rod’s lips with the pointed tip of his tongue.

Pleasure sang over Drift’s circuits when Hot Rod moaned, his tongue sliding against the other speedster’s. He let out a small whine in return when Rod gently grasped his finials, stroking them as they kissed.

“You’re gorgeous,” Rod whispered reverently. Drift went shock still and gaped at Hot Rod as if he’d grown a third eye, heat pooling in his cheeks. No one had ever complimented him on his frame, let alone called him _gorgeous._ Drift’s immediate reaction was to protest, but honestly, he didn’t want to ruin the moment, didn’t want to sully Hot Rod’s tenderness with his bitterness, so he simply replied in a whisper, “So are you.”

Hot Rod beamed and pulled him into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy this was corny  
> Also just for the record, there is JUST KISSING, no implied sexy times  
> Just two homeless bots bein gay together


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You're looking for a way out, I can feel it_  
>  _Come on, show me where it hurts, maybe I can heal it_  
>  _When we first met, headstrong and filled with doubt_  
>  _It was a matter of time_  
>  _Can't you see that it's tearing me up inside?_  
>  (The Killers, “A Matter Of Time”)

After about a month of doing pretty much the same things, day in and day out, they finally had enough shanix stashed away that they could get Hot Rod’s tires replaced.

As they walked along towards the part replacements store, Drift pondered as to why he really cared. They’d only known each other for about a week when he told Hot Rod that he cared about him; how had the smaller mech wormed his way into his spark so fast? Selling his frame to the relinquishment clinic every day wasn’t a real job, but it paid good money - most of which he’d been saving up to get new tires for someone he barely knew. Maybe it was because he felt like he owed Hot Rod for saving his life. Maybe, since he’d spent centuries with Gasket at his side, all for him to be cruelly ripped away from him and then been left alone, he needed someone to fill the void.

Or maybe there was just some invisible, magnetic quality in him that Drift simply couldn’t resist.

He was fully aware that getting attached was dangerous, but he’d already gotten in too deep with Hot Rod. The smaller mech was the only thing that kept him going. He was the first thing that Drift saw when he woke up, and the last thing he saw before he powered down for the night. They shared everything: their energon, their supplies, their fears, their hopes. Hushed words of comfort, and gentle kisses in the dark as they lay curled around one another in their tiny shed.

But if Hot Rod got his tires and was able to drive again, he was going to leave.

Apparently, the smaller speedster was kind of a big deal back in Nyon. A freedom fighter, a rebel; he was practically a figurehead for the resistance. They needed him.

Although he’d never admit it in a million years, Drift needed him, too. 

Once they arrived at the repair shop, they didn't look around much; they just purchased the cheapest set of tires available. The subpar quality of the wheels didn’t put a damper on Hot Rod’s giddiness, however - the moment they exited the shop, he’d transformed and revved his engine.

“C’mon!”

That was all the warning Drift received before Hot Rod sped off. He smiled half-heartedly as he transformed, trying not to think about how it was only a matter of time until Hot Rod would drive away without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know time skips are lazy but honestly if I didn’t use them this fic would go on forever and ever. Plus their daily routine is about the same so it’d also be pretty boring to read.
> 
> Sorry this one's so short :(


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We are the kids that you never can kill,_  
>  _We say that we won't but you know that we will,_  
>  _You know that we will keep on_  
>  (Walk The Moon, “We Are The Kids”)

After spending some time simply driving alongside Hot Rod, the younger mech giddy with the thrill of being able to drive again, Drift begrudgingly warned his companion that he probably should probably slow down; make sure his tires were in good shape for when he went back home.

Hot Rod skidded to a halt, transforming with a moment’s pause. His vents whirred noisily, trying to cool his heated frame. “Home. Right.”

Transforming as well, Drift tilted his head. Was that… reluctance? Was Hot Rod having doubts about going back to Nyon?

That was probably too much to hope for. He settled for beckoning the other mech with a wave of his hand. “C’mon, let’s get back to the hideout.”

Ah, yes. Their tiny, run-down shed. The shed that felt more like a home to Hot Rod than anything else he’d ever known. He nodded and trotted up to stand at Drift’s side, his helm just barely clearing the taller mech’s shoulder. He brushed his hand over Drift’s before hooking their pinky fingers together. Although his field flickered with surprise, Drift didn’t say anything.

\--

Crouched in the shadow of an alley, an enforcer wrinkled his face in disgust at the public display of affection. “I have the target in sight,” he spoke quietly into his radio.

Word had gotten around that some guttermech had slaughtered some of Copper’s best enforcers, and he took issue with that. Since then, Officer Copper had been keeping a keen optic out for a mech matching the description of the murderer given by witnesses: dingy black and white frame, gold optics, racer alt, distinctive helm finials. 

When he’d been on patrol and at last caught sight of a mech matching the description, Copper had followed him from a distance until the mech came to a stop at a relinquishment clinic. Ah, so he was one of _those_. Hard to get worse than some filthy, worthless gutter trash that sold his frame for shanix.

The run-down mech walked back out of the clinic, stretching his limbs out and rubbing his neck: telltale signs of a mech just reunited with his frame. At least Copper knew now that he had his sights on the mech that did the deed, although snuffing some seedy body tourist wouldn’t have bothered his conscience much.

He’d followed the mech back to what he assumed was his “home”. However, knowing how dangerous this mech was, Copper took note of the location and stored the information away. He’d be back, but with reinforcements. The slippery scrapheap was going to get what was coming to him.

Two days later, Copper had gone out hunting for the mech again, his squadron at the ready. He trailed along behind the perpetrator and his companion (Friend? Amica? Conjunx?) until they arrived back at their little hideout.

However, they wouldn’t make it inside.

\--

The entire way back, Drift felt on edge, as if someone was watching him. He drew his hand away from Hot Rod’s, only to slip his arm around the smaller mech’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Everything alright?” Hot Rod questioned, looking up at him curiously.

“Yeah. Just a little anxious, that’s all,” Drift admitted. He tried to fill his field with assurance, but worry still tainted the edges of it. Hot Rod chewed his bottom lip. It wasn’t like Drift to get rattled by, well, anything. He was one of the bravest mechs the smaller speedster had ever known.

Drift visibly relaxed once their hideaway was in sight, and a smile played across Hot Rod’s lips. “See? Everything’s fi- AH!”

"Roddy!" Instinctively moving to catch Hot Rod as he fell, Drift’s attention was diverted just long enough for half a dozen enforcers to pop out of hiding, guns all trained on the pair of speedsters. He pulled the smaller mech closer to his frame, trying to shield him in the bulk of his arms and chest. Thankfully, he'd only been tazed, likely to pacify him so they could get to their real target more easily. However, Drift didn’t plan on going down without a fight.

Even when outmatched six-to-one AND holding an unconscious mech in his arms, Drift was still a force to be reckoned with. The enforcers, however, did not appear to realize that. They looked confident, believing they had the upper hand.

When Copper motioned for his officers to shoot, Drift proved just how wrong they were.

\--

Before he had even realized what he’d done, Drift stood in the middle of six enforcers, all riddled with bullet holes, a gun in one hand, the other supporting Hot Rod’s still limp frame against his hip. Were they dead? Unconscious? Drift wasn’t sure. All he knew is that he sure as hell didn’t have time to figure it out: he had to get Hot Rod out of there, and _fast_.

As he sped through the littered streets of the gutters, as fast as he could go on his feet (which was, fortunately, still pretty fast), Drift cradled Hot Rod close to his chassis. It was a good thing the smaller mech was so light; otherwise, they’d be significantly worse off.

At least one of the enforcers must’ve survived and radioed for backup, because it wasn’t too long until Drift heard sirens blaring in the distance. As fast as he was on his feet, he was no match for an enforcer’s alt mode. He cursed and looked around as he ran, desperately looking for somewhere to hide. There was plenty of abandoned, crumbling buildings and run-down shanties, but none of them appeared to offer much shelter.

Primus, this was like Gasket all over again - except this time, there were survivors. Hot Rod, thankfully, but also witnesses: at least one of the enforcers was alive, and from the sounds of it, at least two healthy ones hot on his trail. Now, they wouldn’t just have a description of his frame. They’d have clear photos, as well as any information the relinquishment clinic would fork over - which would probably be everything, if the enforcers threatened to shut down their sketchy business.

Drift spotted an abandoned parking garage that at least seemed to have some integrity to it. He ducked inside and headed deeper inside as fast as possible, making a beeline for the stairwell. He gingerly laid Hot Rod down on the landing as he locked both doors from the inside: hopefully the enforcers hadn’t seen where he’d gone, but it was always good to be cautious.

Finally somewhere (hopefully) safe, Drift collapsed onto the steel floor next to Hot Rod, exhausted, his spark still pounding. Once he’d finally mustered up the strength, Drift rolled over to inspect his companion. Other than two puncture wounds and some scorched plating from where he’d been tazed, Hot Rod seemed to be fine, much to his relief. He himself was a bit worse off: when Drift finally took note of his frame, he winced, noticing that he had several bullet holes in his armor. Most of them were only plating-deep, but one to the thin metal of his waist had lodged itself deep and stung badly.

He desperately wanted to stay awake, make sure Hot Rod was safe and protected, but with all the stress and strain of his body, Drift’s frame gave out, and he slipped into unconsciousness, his head coming to rest on top of Hot Rod’s chassis, just above his spark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The enforcer's name is a double pun bc copper is a metal and they are made of metal, and also bc a "copper" is. Y'know. A cop


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Joke me something awful just like kisses on the necks of "best friends"_  
>  _We're the kids who feel like dead ends_  
>  _And the poets are just kids who didn't make it_  
>  _And never had it at all_  
>  (Fall Out Boy, “Summer Song”)

Drift awoke to gently touches to his helm, small fingers stroking his finials, and the sound of a spark humming softly beneath his cheek.

“Hot Rod?”

“Shh. I’m here. It’s okay. We’re safe.” He didn’t add “I think”, but Drift knew he was thinking it. “What… What happened?”

Drift sat up, gazing down into worried optics. By then, darkness had fallen, and their optics’ glow provided the only light in the darkness of the stairwell. It seemed that the bulbs meant to keep the area lit had burnt out long ago, or more likely, just turned off along with the building’s electricity when it was shut down. “I… we… There were all these enforcers, and they shot you, and… and I…”

He looked away, staring at the scratched-up steel walls as if they were suddenly very interesting. “I shot back.”

Hot Rod sat up as well, trying to reign in the shock in his field. “Are they…?”

Drift nodded solemnly, two short jerks of his head, still not meeting the hot rod’s gaze. His finials slanted back in shame, his entire being radiating shame. “This isn’t even the first time. When enforcers closed in on me and my friend Gasket, and they killed him… I killed them, too. I barely even remember what happened; one moment, they had their guns trained on me, and the next, I had one of their guns in hand, and all three of them were dead at my feet.”

When he looked back at Hot Rod, Drift flinched. The smaller mech was trembling, optics wide with fear. “Roddy,” he said quickly, reaching out a tentative hand. “You know I’d never, ever hurt you, right?”

Hot Rod bit his lip but nodded. He did know that. But becoming aware that he’d been attached to the hip of a mech so violent… It was a bit frightening. All the same, he took Drift’s hand and pressed it to his cheek. “I know,” he confirmed aloud. “What… What are we going to do?”

“Well, I knew I needed to lay low after what happened before, but in retrospect, selling my frame out - even if it wasn’t really _me_ in there - was not laying low. Now, I have to be a lot more careful. I think… I think I’m going to have to go into hiding.” Drift stared at his hand, still cupping Rod’s soft cheek. “I don’t expect you to go with me. You should really be going back home, anyway…”

“Drift.”

The older mech met Hot Rod’s optics again, which were full of conviction. “ _This_ is my home now. I mean, not _here_ ,” he gestured around them at the dank corridor, “but here.” He placed his free hand over Drift’s spark. He gazed intently into the other’s eyes. “My home is with you. Wherever you go, I will follow.”

Drift was not a mech of over-emotional displays. Small things, yes, but nothing dramatic. However, Hot Rod’s words struck a strong chord with him. He let out an embarrassing choking noise from deep within his vocalizer before leaning forward and pulling Hot Rod into a tight hug. He buried his face into his friend’s neck, breathing the other’s scent in deeply. “Oh, Roddy,” he murmured against Hot Rod’s neck cables. The smaller mech smiled, holding Drift close. He gently gripped sensitive finials, earning a small gasp from his companion.

It was Hot Rod’s turn to let out a soft noise when Drift mouthed at his neck, leaving sloppy, almost reverent kisses up and down his neck. “Thank you,” he breathed against his plating.

“For what?” Hot Rod managed, laying back against the floor.

Drift kissed his cheek chastely. “For everything,” he whispered.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You could risk it all_  
>  _Fall in love with an outlaw_  
>  _Can you play your part_  
>  _In this tragedy?_  
>  _You were the first to_  
>  _Recognize and refer to_  
>  _Everything I am_  
>  _Not just who I'm trying to be_  
>  _I won't blame you_  
>  _If you decide to run_  
>  _After all I've done_  
>  _You decide if I'm the one_  
>  (Marlon Roudette, “Anti Hero")

Ever since the time that Drift had first shown his “natural gift” for violence, word had spread like wildfire through the underground. Decepticon eyes and ears were everywhere; it was only a matter of time until Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, found out.

Although Drift and Hot Rod were doing their best to lie low, they had to fuel themselves. Only a mere two days had passed since the incident with the enforcers. Drift had insisted that Rod stayed inside the stairwell of the abandoned parking garage they’d taken up as their temporary hideout.

Hot Rod, of course, protested. “What? Why?! You’re the one that’s a wanted criminal, Drift!” When the other speedster cringed, Hot Rod immediately regretted what he said, and sighed softly. “What I meant was… it just makes sense for you to stay hidden while I go out instead.”

Drift shook his head. “By association with me, you’re a fugitive here, too. Besides,” he added with a wry smile, “I’m probably better at sneaking around and blending in with the mechs around here than you, with your garish paint job and Nyonian accent.”

As much as Hot Rod wanted to protest, he knew it was true, so with a pout, he crossed his arms and sat down on a step. Drift patted Rod’s helm. “Good Roddy.” That earned a tongue stuck out at him, but he didn’t care so long as the smaller mech was safe.

\--

As he was on his way to the dispensary, Drift noticed that someone had begun to follow him. They’d been trying to be coy about it, but having spent his entire functioning in the gutters, his senses were tuned to detect anyone getting too close as a protective measure.

He ducked into an alley at his right, hoping to shake his pursuer, all to come face-to-face with a high chain-link fence only about two feet in front of him. He spun around, the stalker standing at the opening to the alley. Drift turned back to the fence and jumped, scrambling up the fence as quickly as he could. However, he hadn’t considered that the mech might’ve been packing, and before he was halfway up, Drift felt a sharp shock coursing through his lines, causing his frame to seize up. His limp body slammed into the ground, helm hitting hard against the concrete. The last thing Drift saw before blacking out was the stranger leaning over him, and this close, he could make out a Decepticon symbol on his chest.

_Oh, scrap,_ he thought to himself.

\--

“You did _WHAT?!_ ”

“I… I was going to the dispensary, and some mech followed me and knocked me out, and then I found myself tied up by a Decepticon, and he said he wanted to offer me a deal: if I would pledge my allegiance to Megatron, he’d teach me proper fighting forms - y’know, for self-defense - and give us someplace safe to stay. _Both_ of us, Roddy.”

To say Hot Rod was skeptical would be a massive understatement. “Okay, um, this is just my personal opinion, but if I were you, I _probably_ wouldn’t trust somebody who knocked me out, took me to an undisclosed location, tied me up, and asked me to become a Decepticon! What do you think he’d have done if you’d said _no?_ ”

Drift hesitated, just for a moment, but Rod was quick to jab a finger in the other speedster’s face. “There! See! You know I’m right!”

“Listen, Roddy-”

“Oh, don’t you ‘Roddy’ me! You KNOW this is a bad idea!”

Drift ran a hand over his face. “Rod, can you please just let me talk?”

The smaller mech crossed his arms with a pout, looking away. “Fine.”

“We’re not safe here,” Drift said plainly. “If we go with the Decepticons, we’ll have access to shelter and energon, as well as someplace to stay. Be honest with yourself; an old, crumbling parking garage with no locks or hiding places other than a stairwell isn’t exactly a fortress.” He paused, but Hot Rod still wouldn’t look at him, so he added quietly, “You know, you don’t have to stay. You’ve got your new tires now; you can always go back to Nyon…”

That grabbed Hot Rod’s attention. He finally looked back to Drift, his face pinched with hurt. “Drift, I… I _want_ to stay with you. And… if you think it’d be better for us to be with the Decepticons, then… so be it. But don’t expect me to be a con, too!” He pointed at Drift with a comically serious expression.

With a sigh of relief, Drift took the hand pointing in his face and kissed the other’s knuckles, immediately causing Hot Rod to relax a little. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Hot Rod smiled warmly at his companion. “So, how’re we going to go about this?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nobody will break you_  
>  _Trust in me, trust in me_  
>  _Don't pull away_  
>  _I'm just trying to keep this together_  
>  _If your heart wears thin I will hold you up_  
>  _And I will hide you when it gets too much_  
>  _I'll be right beside you_  
>  Marianas Trench, “Beside You”

The next day, Drift met up with the same con from the day before, in the alley where he’d been caught. The two had words and made arrangements, and when Drift returned to Hot Rod, the Decepticon was with him.

“Hot Rod, this is Lockdown,” Drift said, gesturing to the tall, imposing mech. Hot Rod took in the sight of the black, white and green plating, spikes and piercings and odd markings all across his frame. He gripped Drift’s arm with a forced smile. “Drift, can I talk to you for a sec? In _private_?” He dared to dart his optics to the Decepticon, who wasn’t even paying them much attention, as if he had better places to be and more important things to take care of.

Rod all but dragged Drift toward a wall of the building. It took all of his willpower to not slam his daft friend against the wall. “Are you crazy?!” he hissed. “You think we can trust _him?_ Just look at that guy!” Drift peered over Rod’s shoulder, briefly considering the mech a few yards away, who was now typing something in on a datapad.

With a sigh, Drift returned his gaze to Hot Rod. “Look,” he murmured, placing a hand on the brightly-colored mech’s arm, “I know it’s not ideal, and definitely a long shot, but even as high-risk as this is, I know the cons take care of their own. And now that they’ve contacted me, well… you know the saying, “You’re either with us, or against us”. I…” Drift frowned, his optics looking almost sorrowful. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

Grimacing, Hot Rod swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded in understanding. He knew that Drift was right.

\--

The Decepticon Refugee Camp was far outside the city limits, nearly at the halfway point between Rodion and Nyon. Hot Rod recognized the shapes of the tall mesas raising from the rust desert, and the thought that his hometown was so close made his spark ache a little. All the same, he stuck to Drift’s side - which wasn’t an understatement. He was practically magnetized to the taller bot’s hip as they entered the camp. Even though Drift had promised him that they’d be safe there, the bots coming out of their tents to size up the newcomers were less than friendly-looking.

They made their way to the largest of the makeshift structures, located in the middle of the camp. Unlike the majority of the camp, this was an actual building - albeit small, it actually looked rather reinforced… like it could serve as a fortress of sorts.

Drift rapped his knuckles on the door three times before a small slot in the door opened, revealing a mech’s narrowed ruby optics. A high-pitched voice hissed, “What do you want?”

Without missing a beat, Drift replied cooly, “We’ve been summoned by Lord Megatron.”

The other mech’s eyes narrowed further, and the slot shut. There was a moment of pause and somewhat-hushed conversation from within before several locks were audibly disabled. The door then slid open to reveal a flier - a seeker, specifically - slightly taller than Drift, due to the thrusters on the heels of his boots. He was a rather handsome mech: with a white, blue and red paint job that brought out his dark crimson optics. He stepped aside and gestured for the two newcomers to enter.

The dwelling was, put simply, not much. There was a large desk near the back of the room, littered with datapads, and a holo-screen projected towards the left-hand corner. Behind the desk sat the leader of the Decepticon rebellion himself: Megatron.

Megatron stood, and Drift immediately fell to one knee, and when he noticed that Hot Rod was still standing, he tugged on his hand until he got the message and also knelt, lowing his helm in respect. “My Lord,” Drift began, “thank you for offering me a place of refuge amongst your people. I will do my utmost to serve you and The Cause -”

Raising a hand, Megatron silenced the younger mech. “Come now, to your feet,” he rumbled, voice commanding yet somehow soothing, his field washing over the smaller mechs like a warm oil bath. “Here, none shall ever have to bow to another. Not even for me. Though I may be the Decepticon founder and leader, and therefore command your respect and loyalty, you need not bow down to me, for just as you are, I am but a mech.”

Near the back of the room, arms crossed and frame radiating irritation, the seeker rolled his eyes.

Drift and Hot Rod rose to their feet, nodding in understanding. Even though Rod did not intend to become a ‘con, he knew that to live in the camp meant to live under Megatron’s rules. The imposing mech gestured to the the pouty seeker in the corner. “Starscream here will show you to your tent.”

With another roll of the optics, the seeker, evidently named Starscream, pushed off the wall and strode past Megatron and the newcomers. “Of course, _my Lord,_ ” he sneered before keying open the door. When Drift and Hot Rod showed a moment’s hesitation, he snapped, “Come on, then! I don’t have all day!”

Tiredly sitting back down in his chair, Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose and asked himself the same question as he did every day: “ _Why did I make Starscream my second in command?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, life's been throwing me a lot of curveballs lately and this was also a kind of hard chapter for me to write. Thanks for waiting!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Have you no idea that you're in deep?_  
>  _I dreamt about you nearly every night this week_  
>  _Do I wanna know_  
>  _If this feeling flows both ways?_  
>  _Sad to see you go_  
>  _Was sort of hoping that you'd stay_  
>  (Arctic Monkeys, “Do I Wanna Know?”)

Drift was starting to warm up to the other Decepticons. Or, at least, some of them. Others, he tried to keep his distance from. Despite their differences, Drift actually seemed to be settling in well. He hadn’t gone through the Rite of Deceptibrand, and therefore wasn’t technically a “real” Decepticon such, but his reception was as if he was. That is, to say, he was treated with the same roughness as everyone else.

He actually didn’t seem to mind too much. Even though most of the ‘cons were prickly to say the least, he was learning a lot from them, about just how rotten Cybertron was, to its very core. He was a tad nit surprised to learn that Decepticons in Iacon were working on taking over the data net and defense grids, but it made sense. It would be the easiest way for Megatron to spread his message all across Cybertron.

Hot Rod wasn’t doing too, well… hot.

He felt extremely out of place, and with Drift getting so chummy with the ‘cons, he felt as if he’d overstayed his welcome, no matter how much Drift insisted the opposite.

\--

Megatron was going to Rodion to hold a recruitment rally that night, and Drift insisted that they go along. “C’mon, Hot Rod! It might even change your mind about joining the ‘cons.” He winked with a grin, new fangs glinting in the fading light. Hot Rod’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something about them, but instead sighed with defeat, his spoiler sagging. “Alright. I’ll come, if nothing else to make sure you stay out of trouble.” He smiled and gently elbowed Drift, the taller mech chuckling. They transformed and headed for the rally.

\--

The rally had already started when the two of them slipped inside, but Drift insisted on making his way to the front, losing Hot Rod in the crowd. Upon a platform stood Megatron; behind him were his first and second officers - Starscream and Soundwave - as well the other two members of Starscream’s trine.

“We’re not interested in a war,” Megatron projected, his voice reaching every corner of the impromptu auditorium. “That’s something _they_ want. All _we_ want is equality, an end to an unjust rule… and peace across Cybertron.”

Murmurs of agreement rose up from the crowd as he stepped down from the stage, raising a clenched fist. “But they won’t have it. They fight us at every turn, crushing their heels down upon our heads until we’re back where they want us - on our _knees_.”

Even though Hot Rod couldn’t see Megatron - being shorter than the average bot didn’t mix well with the fact that Megatron had stepped down from the stage - the rebel leader’s presence filled the room, his rich voice making it feel as if he were speaking directly to each mech. Hot Rod had to admit, his speech was really striking a chord with him.

“The time has come for us to rise up and seize what is rightfully ours. We must rule because our voice is the TRUE voice of Cybertron. We must rule so that justice will prevail.”

Hot Rod made his way to the edge of the room as Megatron spoke so that he could see him, and at once spotted familiar finials among the front row of mechs. He snapped back to attention when Megatron pointed straight at Drift.

“You there. Drift. Step forward.”

With eyes wide with surprise, Drift shuffled forward, clamping his mouth shut. “I have heard great things,” Megatron began. “Will you join the Decepticons? Will you fight for a Cybertron we all believe in?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he firmly replied, “Yes.”

Hot Rod jumped when the rest of the room also shouted affirmation of their loyalty. Megatron smiled almost fondly and rested a massive hand atop Drift’s shoulder. “From now on, you shall be known as Deadlock. You are a Decepticon warrior, and you will fight at my side.”

The rest of the rally went by in a blur for Hot Rod, sound reaching his audials but not his processor. All he could do was stare at Drift - Deadlock - standing at Megatron’s side.

Even though he was only a few feet away, Hot Rod had never felt further from him.

\--

Drift - er, Deadlock - spent most of his time training, now that he was an official Decepticon, which left Hot Rod with a lot of time to himself, much of which he used to reminisce.

Here, they had free access to clean, filtered energon, a space to call their own, and protection. Not to mention free self-defense (and offense) courses. It was a pretty good gig.

Yet, Hot Rod couldn’t help missing the days he and Deadlock had spent holed up in that tiny, abandoned shed, sleeping on that dirty old mattress, scrounging for scraps. Just the two of them, against the world.

He knew it was ridiculous to miss it. But at least back then, he had Drift, who was the only thing keeping him from going back to Nyon.

But now that Deadlock was hardly ever around…

They were going to need to have a discussion.

\--

When he wasn’t lying on his back, staring at the ceiling of their tent, Hot Rod made use of the offer of self-defense lessons that had been generously offered to him, even though he wasn’t a ‘con. He spent the next week learning to properly use, assemble, and disassemble blasters, as well as how to rig phase charges. A minibot by the name of Swindle had even sold him some, albeit for a bit of a hefty price. Luckily, Hot Rod still had some credits left over from what he and Deadlock had scraped together for his new set of tires. Deadlock wouldn’t even realize the money was gone; he was hardly around anyway. Hot Rod carefully tucked the weapons away into his subspace, knowing that unfortunately, he was going to need them sooner than later.

That night, when Deadlock got back to their little tent, he was surprised to find Hot Rod sitting up straight, hands folded neatly in his lap and optics downcast. They flicked up when Deadlock entered fully. Wasting no time, Hot Rod murmured, “We need to talk.”

Deadlock’s spark immediately sunk, and the look in his eyes made Hot Rod’s spoiler quiver briefly. He carefully sat down in front of his closest friend, their optics and biolights the only illumination in the dark of the tent. Deadlock looked like he already knew what Hot Rod was going to say.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you.” Deadlock said in a flat voice.

Hot Rod flinched in surprise. “Wha- How-”

“I can tell you’re not happy here,” Deadlock murmured. “Since we got here, you’ve been… I don’t know. It feels like we’re growing apart.” He looked away, finials slanting down in melancholy.

“Drift… Deadlock. You know I want to be with you, wherever you go. But with all this Decepticon business, it’s just not possible. This is quickly heading towards becoming an army, preparing for war. Even if I _wanted_ to be part of that, we’d eventually get separated anyway. Plus, Nyon... I hear things are going from bad to worse. My people… they need me.” Hot Rod frowned and stared at his hands, his voice lowering. “Right now, I feel like we’re being led by fate in two different directions.”

Deadlock nodded, trying to hold back tears. The ‘cons were teaching him that he needed to be strong, no matter what happened. Surviving in this world was not for the weak of spark. “I understand,” he responded, a slight quiver to his voice. “You don’t have to say anything else. I get it. You’re right.”

With a sigh of both relief and sadness, Hot Rod wrapped his arms around Deadlock, pulling him tightly against his frame, lying them back onto their cot. “Thank you for understanding,” he whispered. All Deadlock could do was nod, burying his face in the crook of the smaller bot’s neck.

Hot Rod eventually fell asleep, curled up at Drift’s side. The Decepticon, however, stayed awake and gently stroked the other’s helm, a silent tear rolling down his cheek. “Everybody leaves,” Deadlock whispered, his voice riddled with pain. “But you’re not like everybody else, so I was sort of hoping that you’d stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is where are heroes go their separate ways.
> 
> The next few chapters are mostly going to just be plot-pushers. There isn't a whole lot of 'Deadlock' in canon, so his stuff is largely made up, but Hot Rod's stories are either based upon or directly follow canon events.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And you thanked me for curing you_  
>  _For saving your life when you thought nobody could_  
>  _And reminding you that people are worth loving_  
>  _And worth holding onto_  
>  _But I'm left with a knot in my chest asking_  
>  _Why this feels so much like leaving_  
>  _And letting go_  
>  (Flatsound, “A Morning Spent Thinking About A Life Without You”)

With his subspaces full of energon and the weapons he’d gotten from Swindle, Hot Rod stood at the boundaries surrounding the Decepticon camp, just before sunrise. Drift was facing him, helm finials slanted back in depression. Hot Rod took his friend’s hands in both of his own.

“Are you sure you can’t come with me?”

Drift couldn’t meet Hot Rod’s sorrowful optics. He shook his head, eyes cast downward. “The Decepticons need me.”

_Not as much as I need you,_ Hot Rod thought to himself. 

“Okay,” he croaked. “I understand.” A blatant lie, and both of them knew it.

A thick silence hung between them for a few moments, neither meeting each other’s gaze until Drift made a staticky noise, causing Hot Rod to look up.

Rubbing at an optic that was trying not to leak, Drift laughed sadly, “I guess this is goodbye.”

Hot Rod gently squeezed the hand that was still in his own. “It’s not. I WILL see you again.”

With a few small, sharp nods, Drift weakly agreed, still not meeting Hot Rod’s gaze. The smaller mech sighed and pulled Drift into a tight embrace. Drift shuddered out a deep breath.

When Hot Rod pulled back, his hands coming to rest on Drift’s cheeks, he stood on his tiptoes and leaned forward to place a soft, tender kiss upon his best friend’s lips. As the sun began to rise on the horizon, its golden tendrils wrapped around their frames, bathing them in a warm glow as they kissed tenderly. 

When they pulled apart, the light reflected in Hot Rod’s optics caused Drift’s spark to clench and then flare, the fresh incision on his casing stinging with the intensity. He hadn’t told Hot Rod that his badge had been forged from it; while he thought it was symbolic and right, Hot Rod would’ve definitely thought otherwise. The knowledge that Hot Rod would never see things his way caused an entirely different kind of pain in his spark.

"Thank you," Drift murmured. "For saving my life. For setting me straight. For showing me that I'm not alone. For... for everything." 

The smaller mech smiled sadly. “I promise I’ll find you again someday,” Hot Rod whispered, letting his head thunk down on Drift’s chassis. They stood embracing one another for a few moments more before the smaller mech pulled away with the difficulty of prying two powerful magnets apart. The guard at the gate unlocked and opened the door to him.

“See ya,” he said softly with a little wave, before transforming and speeding out into the desert.

Once Hot Rod was nothing but a pinprick on the horizon, Drift whispered back, “See you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhuhuhhuh sorry this was short and dumb but the next one is gonna be kinda longish and heavy plotwise so prepare your bodies


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I knew I'd hold on to this feeling_  
>  _I'd hold on to anything at all_  
>  _When things got hard_  
>  _When things got dark_  
>  _Because oh my god_  
>  _When they get dark_  
>  _They get so dark_  
>  (Flatsound, “Learning To Hate As A Self Defense Mechanism”)

Hot Rod wasn’t even within the city limits yet, but he could already tell that things were worse than when he left.

He entered through the Torus district, driving through the Rust Narrows - essentially the gutters of the city - and winced internally at the state of his surroundings. Neon signs still glowed, and mechs still roamed about, but there was (even more) rubble littering the streets, buildings crumbling to rust around him. Establishments that were still intact were covered in graffiti. He’d thought the Dead End was worse than his home, but coming back to it, Nyon was in about the same level of disarray.

What had _happened?_

When he crossed a bar he’d worked at for a little while, Hot Rod was unsurprised to find mechs shambling around outside with bottles of engex, some of them leaning on others, all of them drunk out of their processors. He swerved quickly as he drove by, narrowly missing a mech who dashed in front of him at last minute.

A few more minutes of driving through the dark, dank streets, and Hot Rod arrived at the place he’d spent most of his functioning: the Acroplex, once one of the shining capitals of ancient Cybertron. Now, it was nothing more than a run-down labyrinth of death, suffering, and shattered dreams.

Hot Rod’s spark clenched painfully as he walked through the halls, his footsteps echoing hollowly against the walls. When he reached the main chamber - the Hall of Order - he knelt and bowed his helm, acknowledging the towering statues of what was surely some of the Knights of Cybertron. He ran his fingertips over the inscription on the ground before him, the words forming a circle, and a smaller one within. It read: “True freedom exists when all are one.”

He wasn’t 100% sure what that meant, but for some reason, it gave him hope.

At the end of the next hallway was a spark-blue, luminescent symbol of the Matrix and a small shrine. Hot Rod knelt in front of it as well and murmured a soft prayer to Primus, apologizing for not bringing an offering, and gave thanks for his time in Rodion with Drift. The red glow emanating from heart of the Acroplex, to his left, cast an eerie light over his plating. Once finished with his prayer, Hot Rod stood and turned to walk into the large room.

Energon tanks, glowing ruby red, reached high above him to the ceiling. Huddled around each tank were several mechs, nearly a hundred in all, trying to soak up any spilled energon. Hot Rod’s spark clenched with pity, empathy, and guilt. These were his people, and he’d left them when they needed him most.

A low murmur rose from the crowd at the sight of Hot Rod entering the room. Someone cried out in a squeaky, broken voice, “Roddy! We thought you were dead!”

Kneeling down in front of the mech who’d called out to him, he cupped the younger bot’s face. “Nah. I can’t be killed that easy.” The mechling giggled before leaning against him tiredly, as if the laugh had sapped of him of all his strength. Hot Rod gathered the orphan into his arms and sat down against the wall, pulling a half-full cube of energon from his subspace. The exhausted mechling’s optics lit up, and he eagerly accepted Hot Rod’s gift, gulping down the cube’s contents quickly.

“Hey, hey,” Hot Rod, chastised gently. “Don’t drink too fast; you’ll make yourself sick and purge before your body can even process the energon.” The young mech looked guilty for a moment, but was too happy from the little bit of fuel to be truly sorry.

An older bot approached Hot Rod as the he assisted the little one, resting a heavy hand on the flame-painted mech’s shoulder. “Hot Rod,” the elder rasped, clutching to Rod’s plating as it were a lifeline. “Zeta… his Autobots… they’ve abandoned us here. Even worse, they’ve been bleedin’ us dry of our energon. The only people ‘round here keepin’ some semblance of order ‘round here is them Decepticons. A lot of us have taken to helpin’ ‘em out with their cause… just makes sense, y’know?”

With surprise, Hot Rod looked up, coming face-to-face with a Decepticon symbol crudely painted on his rusty chassis. “What?”

The ancient mech used his free hand to scratch at his head, paint flaking off his plating like falling leaves. “Zeta’s goonies have been burnin’ down buildings, flushing out the mechs inside and takin’ the energon right outta them and leavin’ the bodies on the streets to rust. They don’t even care who sees em’, them bein’ above the law ‘n all. Only started about two weeks ago, but I have a feelin’ they ain’t gonna stop anytime soon.”

Hot Rod’s spark burned with fury, and he stood sharply. “I don’t want to join the Decepticons,” he intoned seriously. “Taking up sides in this… it’s not a good idea. That said, I’m still gonna do whatever I can to protect you guys. I know I’ve been gone for a while, but I’m back now, and I’m here to stay.”

A tall, broad mech with a missing optic, half-crumpled face, and miner’s frame and paint-job lumbered up to the two of them with heavy footsteps, arms crossed. The elderly mech gestured to him and said, “This is Hammerfist. He is one of our most recently-joined rebel leaders, as well as one of our strongest and most outspoken.”

Hammerfist sized him up with a skeptical eye. “I’ve heard about you,” he rumbled. “People ‘round here been wonderin’ where you been.” He poked Hot Rod’s chassis, the smaller mech stumbling back slightly and huffing. He was outspoken, alright. “Guess it don’t matter now, s’long you’re back. Things are getting worse here by the day.” 

Hot Rod nodded. “I understand. I’m ready to do whatever is necessary to protect my people.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I was just an only child of the universe_   
>  _And then I found you_   
>  _You were too good to be true_   
>  _Gold plated_   
>  _I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you_   
>  _But not as much as I do_
> 
> _I’m here in search of your glory_  
>  _I am a collapsing star with tunnel vision_  
>  _I’m here at the beginning of the end_  
>  _I’m done with having dreams_  
>  (Fall Out Boy, “The Last of the Real Ones”)

About three hundred years later, the Decepticons had acquired a formal HQ in Kolkular. Which was, incidentally, only about twenty kliks east of Nyon. And with the way their headquarters was built, he could somewhat see Nyon from there.

What with Zeta Prime and his autocracy crushing their heels down upon the general Cybertronian public more and more every day, the Decepticons were recruiting freely in the streets, especially in places like Nyon, that had been ravaged by energon shortage and poverty. That was why Megatron was currently making a big push for recruitment in Nyon.

The main reason Deadlock had begged to be part of the recruitment division in Nyon was not, as others thought: because Megatron was there, and everyone knew (and was jealous of) that Deadlock was one of Megatron’s favorites. Deadlock wanted to go because, even after a couple thousand years, he wanted to see Hot Rod. Even if it was from afar, even if Hot Rod couldn’t see _him_ , Deadlock just wanted to lay optics on the bot he loved, even if it would be the last time.

And with the war underway, it was possible it could be.

He wasn’t sure if he actually _wanted_ Hot Rod to see him. With his frame upgrades, would he even recognize him? His voice, maybe, or his distinctive finials. His personality, though…

Deadlock would be the first person to admit that he’s changed. He had become stronger, in both frame and spark. His mind as well as his reflexes had become quicker. He was more confident, and ruthless. He… didn’t think Hot Rod would like what he saw. But to be a part of the Decepticon cause, that was how you made it through: survival of the fittest. Even though he wasn’t the biggest or strongest or meanest, his cunning and quick wit made him a force to be reckoned with - and having Megatron’s favor sure didn’t hurt. Even though he wasn’t one of the Elites, Megatron had said that he saw something special in the younger mech: something that set him apart from the other ‘cons.

Whether that meant Megatron saw something worth protecting, or something that he needed to keep a close eye on, Deadlock wasn’t sure, but as long as it was keeping him safe from the wrath and jealousy of other Decepticons, he didn’t really care.

Currently, Deadlock was positioned in Megatron’s throne room as a guard, along with some others. He was fortunate enough to be near where the warlord sat, conversing quietly with a soldier recruiting inside of Nyon through a small holo-screen. Although he wasn’t quite able to make out what the the other mech was saying, Deadlock’s finials perked up when the communications ended and Megatron mused to Starscream, the seeker hovering behind him, “The young hot rod has led a clever chase. Pity you could never recruit him.” Deadlock wasn’t sure if they were talking about _his_ Hot Rod; there were millions of hotrod frame types. But they were in Nyon, and from what he’d gathered from the locals, his Rod was somewhat of a public figure, a rebel leader.

“Whether he wears our badge or not, Megatron, he’s about to finish those troublesome Autobots for us. Something you’ve repeatedly _failed_ to do, might I add,” Starscream hissed. Megatron just rolled his eyes. At that point, he’d already grown tired of the needling and disparaging comments of his second-in-command.

“As usual, you miss the point, Starscream,” Megatron growled, a note of agitation in his deep voice. “Orion is about to see the truth… And when he does, all hell will break loose in Iacon.”

Orion Pax…? The officer that once saved him from overdosing on circuit boosters…?

Deadlock pursed his lips. That’s right. Orion was an Autobot. Whether he saved his life or not, if he was getting in Megatron’s way, he had whatever was coming to him.

\--

Hot Rod was hiding in the rafters of the Acroplex as he drew the Autobots further and further in. Once they’d stopped in the doorway of the center of the structure, he slipped down to hide behind one of the energon tanks.

“Are those… Energon tanks? What _is_ this place? And what are all these bots doing here?” one of the officers said, mortified. They all jumped when Hot Rod pressed to control panel to slam the doors shut.

“Sealed shut!” the leader - Hot Rod recognized him as Orion Pax - shouted. “Defensive formation! Weapons primed!”

Hot Rod moved out of the shadows from behind one of the tanks. “I wouldn’t start shooting in here, _officer_ , he said cooly, approaching the group of Autobots. “These tanks are highly volatile and don’t react too well to blaster fire.”

Orion raised his blaster at him and announced, “You’re under arrest, Hot Rod! Submit to our custody and no one else will be hurt!”

“Let’s hope so.”

Hot Rod stepped closer, fully into the scarlet glow of the energon tanks. “Autobots - I want to welcome you to the heart of the Acroplex. Once the shining center of the Golden Age, now just a den of rust and suffering.”

“What’s this about?!”

His face solemn, Hot Rod stared at his accusers. “Take a look around. Tell me what you see.”

It seemed that for the first time, the Autobots took in their surroundings. A yellow minibot spoke up first, his voice quiet. “I see desperation. Fear.”

“Hopelessness,” another said.

“These people have been bled dry of their energon. You led us here so that we’d see…” Orion’s optics narrowed. “ _Zeta did this._ ”

Hot Rod approached him, palms spread plaintively. “And you’ve _helped_ him. These people come here, desperate to soak up any drops of power that have been spilled… they’re dying - and there are facilities like this _all over_ Cybertron. Your government bleeds us dry and you wonder why we bomb you… why we fight to drive you from our neighborhoods… 

Orion Pax narrowed his optics, looming over Hot Rod. “Why show us this?” he demanded. “Why not just kill us.”

Hot Rod met his gaze evenly. “Because I believe you’re different, Orion. You’re not like your Prime.”

“What makes you think that?”

A worn blue mech named Orbiter staggered to his feet, approaching the group. “Because of the holo-vids!” he piped up. “They’re all over the data net - showin’ you standin’ up to the Senate and callin’ ‘em out on their corruption!” He smiled hopefully. “Deep down, like the ancient ones that built this place - you still believe in justice.”

He walked up to Hot Rod’s side, placing a hand on the other’s arm. “Hot Rod brought you here - showed you all this - so you could _prove_ it.”

Hot Rod stepped forward. “I won’t resist. You can either arrest me… or stand with us. It’s your choice, Autobot. _Make it count. _”__

__\--_ _

__Orion Pax and his officers had walked out to the balcony of the Acroplex, overlooking the city. “So much suffering,” Orion murmured, his voice laced with sympathy. “I see it everywhere I look… it’s hard to know what to feel.”_ _

__One of his comrades, Bumblebee, chewed his lip, his optics squinted. “Maybe it’s time we accepted that the Decepticons aren’t the _real_ problem.”_ _

__“But we’re _officers!_ You’re suggesting we side with these dissidents against our own government?” the third member, Prowl, replied frustratedly._ _

__“Orion? What should we do?”_ _

__A sudden burst of light caught Orion’s eye, and when he realize what it was, his optics spiraled open wide and he clapped a hand over his spark. “You see that, Prowl?” He used his free hand to point to the raging fire scouring the horizon. “ _That’s our future burning._ ”_ _

__Towering over the tallest skyscrapers stood Zeta Prime’s Omega Destructors, razing the city to the ground. Civilians below screamed in horror as their homes were decimated, the flames consuming them and their loved ones._ _

__Below, Zeta bellowed, “DISSIDENTS OF NYON! You have been branded TRAITORS to the AUTOBOT REGIME! Now you and this wretched slum will be bled of ENERGON, so that Cybertron may THRIVE!_ _

__“Be not DISMAYED! Your rebel sparks shall serve the greater order! Your future - YOUR ENERGON - shall LIVE… within US!”_ _

__And with that, the Omega Destructors emitted sharp bolts of crimson lightning, striking citizens and stopping them in their tracks. Rather than striking through, the bolts seemed to somehow be sucking the energon and life force from the mechs it struck, leaving behind nothing but empty gray husks._ _

__Hot Rod, who had rushed out to join the Autobots on the balcony when he’d heard the first of the screams and explosions, stared on in horror as Nyon burned._ _

__“Lock and load, Autobots! We’re MOVING OUT!”_ _

__“That’s IT? You’re just ABANDONING US?” Hot Rod cried, whipping around to face Orion._ _

__The officer grabbed Hot Rod by the shoulders, the younger mech baring his teeth. “ _No._ But I will buy you time to get these people out of here. The whole city’s going to burn.”_ _

__Hot Rod fought off the tears threatening to flood his optics. “Are you kidding? They’re in no position to _evacuate!_ ” he hissed._ _

__Orion stared at him as if he were peering into his very soul. “You’re their leader now, boy. Find a way, or they’ll all _die_ here amongst the ruins.”_ _

__With that, Orion turned to rush back into the building. “Let’s MOVE!”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orbiter is a fake name I made up for a background character, just for the sake of clarity.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Your feet are bruised, yeah I can tell_  
>  _I pray you make out of hell_  
>  _And if you don’t, I wish you well_  
>  (The Getaway Plan, “Exodus”)

“Hey… what’s that on the horizon?”

A soldier placed on the west side of Megatron’s throne room was staring out the window towards the southeast. Deadlock and several others tried to peek out from where they were posted, but when the strange objects came further into view, all the soldiers in the room rushed to the window to gape at the scene unfolding.

“Looks like Zeta is making his big push.”

Everyone gathered around the window jumped and turned around to find Megatron looming over them, gazing out the window himself. He stepped away as the Omega Destructors began to destroy the city. Everyone knew how that was going to end; no point in standing to watch.

Megatron sat back down on his throne, a pensive look on his face. “I must admit, I didn’t expect this kind of… _zeal_ from Zeta.”

Starscream, who hadn’t left Megatron’s side even when the other crossed the room, huffed, “You sound impressed. The two of you are more alike than you thought.”

Megatron clenched his fists and glanced over his shoulder. “Careful, Starscream. You have _no idea_ what I’m capable of.” Turning his gaze away, his mind drifted back to the bot he once knew. “All the same, I’m _far_ more interested in how Orion will handle this crisis.”

Deadlock hadn’t been paying attention. His hands pressed against the glass of the window, he stared, mortified, as the city his dear friend had loved so much burned.

_Loved more than you,_ a bitter little voice in his head hissed.

Deadlock gritted his teeth. Yes, it was Nyon that Hot Rod had left him for. If it wasn’t for that damned city, Hot Rod would’ve stayed with him. He should be HAPPY it was all coming down!

But then again, that was where Hot Rod was.

It had been thousands of years since Deadlock had last felt the icy tendrils of fear wrap around his spark and _clench_. But knowing that Hot Rod, his little rebel, was probably running around the blazing city, trying to save as many rusting, bleeding, half-dead mechs as he could, risking his own life in the process, made Deadlock’s internals churn.

_He’s going to die there._

\--

On the outskirts of the Acroplex high on a cliff,, Hot Rod and Orbiter were doing their best to escort citizens out of the city. “So much destruction…” Hot Rod murmured, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the dying and destruction. “Even with the Autobots’ help, we’ll never make it to safety in time. How did this _happen?_ ”

Orbiter’s shoulders sank, optics filled with despair. “We always knew they’d invade our homes, Hot Rod.” He cocked his head, glancing at his friend. “But we prepared a contingency.”

Hot Rod tensed up, then slipped a hand into his subspace and pulled out a small remote with one button. “Yeah,” he croaked. “I wired the whole city with phase-charges a while back. I can detonate at any time, but… just never thought it would come to that.”

Turning away to look down at the valley Nyon was nestled in, Orbiter replied grimly, “Better that our people die at _our_ hand than be drained to serve Zeta’s war machines…”

Hot Rod stared at the detonator in his hand. “I don’t think I can…”

He inhaled deeply, a full-frame shudder wracking his body. He squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “Primus forgive me.”

He pressed the button on the detonator, and fell to his knees as Zeta’s Omega Destructors, along with everything he’d ever known, were blown to bits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO chapters in ONE day?! Lucky you :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _All of my escapes have been exhausted_  
>  _I thought I had a way but then I lost it_  
>  _And my resistance was once much stronger_  
>  _And I know I can't go on like this much longer_  
>  (Relient K, “I So Hate Consequences”)

_Well, isn’t this just fantastic,_ Hot Rod thought to himself as he was led in handcuffs to the Decepticon HQ. First, his home was reduced to nothing but flames and hot ashes, and almost all of his friends were killed BY HIS OWN HAND, and then he’d gotten arrested by Decepticons for rolling with the Autobots. Could his day get any worse?

“ _You._ ”

Hot Rod recognized the voice, but turned anyway. Sure enough: Starscream. Megatron’s air marshall and second-in-command. He placed a hand on the shorter bot’s shoulder, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. “Hot Rod, right? From Nyon?”

Genuinely surprised that Starscream remembered who he was after all this time, Hot Rod turned to face him fully. “You _know_ me?”

“We know how hard you fought the system. What you’ve sacrificed.” Ah. He didn’t remember him from the old days in the refugee camp - Drift’s shadow. He knew Hot Rod as an individual: the guttermech, the insurgent, the rebel leader. “If you really want to make a difference and avenge the ghosts of your people… you should come with us.”

\--

Starscream and his Seekers escorted Hot Rod into the Decepticon Citadel established in Iacon. Inside, he was a mess. 

_Autobots. Decepticons. Never dreamed I’d be taking sides in this senseless war. It was simpler back in Nyon; I fought to protect my home, my people. But now all that’s gone… and for the first time, I don’t know **what** I’m fighting for._

He knew, deep down, that these Decepticon thugs would never be able to establish any kind of lasting peace. As he was led to the balcony where Megatron was standing, Hot Rod tried to think of the nicest possible way to say “go fuck yourselves” and manage to not get killed.

\--

When Hot Rod entered the room, Deadlock’s spark stopped.

He was more scratched-up, dented and filthy than he’d ever seen him, and yet, the Decepticon could sense the glow around him, as if he were some heavenly being trapped inside a metal shell. With their backs turned to the room, Deadlock could stare out the balcony doors, eyes locked on Hot Rod’s slight frame. He’d gone through a rebuild - he was a bit boxier but obviously augmented for speed and precision - but the flames decorating his chassis were unmistakable.

Hot Rod didn’t see him, and Deadlock knew it was for the best. He kept quiet when he saw Hot Rod freeing the Autobots and escaping with them; the last thing he wanted was to rat out the mech he’d feared was dead and make it so.

On one hand, Deadlock was relieved that Hot Rod was still alive. On the other, he was sure that Hot Rod would be joining the Autobots now. After the loss of his home, he needed somewhere to go, and Deadlock had known from the beginning that the Decepticons weren’t offering Hot Rod anything that he wanted.

Hot Rod was, inevitably, going to become an Autobot. He was going to become the enemy. What if they met on the battlefield? He knew his Hot Rod - he wouldn’t be just another grunt with a gun. He was going to be on the front lines, a leader. Even from a distance, Deadlock knew that Hot Rod had become stronger than he was. Fearless, clever, resourceful, and a bit reckless. What would happen if he suddenly appeared in Deadlock’s line of fire? If he was taken captive? Would Deadlock be able to put him in harm’s way? Torture him? _Kill him?_

Despite being known as one of the most fearsome Decepticons, Deadlock already knew the answer: if he could help it, Hot Rod wouldn’t get a scratch on him. The bot he loved would only be hurt over his dead body.

\--

It was three million years later and, as he’d made an unfortunate habit of being, Hot Rod was in deep shit.

He’d commandeered a ship - _Ultra Magnus’ ship_ \- and was heading straight for a Decepticon base.

By himself.

It was funny, in a way, how different things had become in the past few million years. Young Hot Rod hadn’t even _wanted_ to participate in the war, and now, some four million years later, he was going to single-handedly take on a Decepticon stronghold.

It wasn’t just for kicks, though. The Decepticons had the Matrix of Leadership - a sacred Cybertronian artifact that he’d believed in the power of since before it was even proved to truly exist. He couldn’t just let the Decepticons _have_ it - only a Prime had the right to bear the Matrix, and Optimus was the only Prime there was.

The plan was a little rickety and relied on a considerable amount of luck, but Hot Rod was (pretty) sure he could pull it off.

He nearly did.

Unfortunately, Hot Rod’s luck ran out when he, quite literally, bumped into Megatron (who was supposed to be DEAD!), who promptly shot him, practically in half, and left the body to drift into space, the Matrix dangling around his neck like jewelry.

As Hot Rod flickered in and out of consciousness, Deadlock’s face flashed before his eyes. He’d heard of the terrible things the mech he’d once loved had done. He was a ruthless, merciless ‘con if there ever was one. He was one of Megatron’s top officers, and well-known as one of the most dangerous Decepticons out there.

Despite everything, Hot Rod still couldn’t find it in himself to hate him. He knew that deep down, some little piece of Drift had to still be in there. _I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore,_ he thought to himself. _He’d probably treat me just like any other Autobot._

All the same, Hot Rod couldn’t help but lament the fact that he never saw his love at least one more time, like he’d told him he would.

_I’m sorry, Deadlock,_ he thought as his systems powered down, one by one. _I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise._


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Something new, nothing old_  
>  _Something true, something gold_  
>  _No spirit of the past can hold you back_  
>  _From the brave new world_  
>  _The direction to start is inside your heart_  
>  _You can make a new start_  
>  _It’s a brave new world_  
>  (The Steven Miller Band, “Brave New World”)

As he was frequently known to do, Wing was outside of New Crystal City. Again.

The natives were enslaving other species and selling them off-world, and the flier couldn’t sit back and watch it happen (which, he wouldn’t have to if he stayed inside the city like a good little knight, but Wing didn’t roll that way). He was shrouded in a dark cloak to conceal his species just in case he got caught. Risking his own life was one thing, but putting the city at risk of discovery was unacceptable.

He was in the process of scaling the rock plateau the slavers’ prison was hidden inside of when a loud, resounding explosion sounded behind him. Wing whipped his head around, staring out over the landscape. No, not an explosion… perhaps a meteor? Or a crashed ship?

Wing cursed under his breath. The slaves weren’t going anywhere, at least until next week: he’d memorized the shipping schedule by now. He had to check out that crash site - if it was a ship, there could be wounded.

As quickly as he could, Wing maneuvered back down the side of the plateau and then making a run for it. Curse his disguise!

Once he’d finally reached the impact site, he waved an arm in front of him in an effort to clear the dust that had been kicked up by the crash. What he found wasn’t even in the realm of things he thought he’d even _see_ in his life, let alone lying at his feet in the dirt:

A Cybertronian, with the (real) Matrix of Leadership lodged in his chest.

Wing sunk to his knees, hanging his head in reverie. The thought that he was in the presence of such a holy artifact - the embodiment of Solomus himself - humbled him more than anything ever had in his life. Who was this mech it had bonded to?

Upon raising his head, Wing closely inspected the mech before him. Dialing up the brightness of his optics, he was able to identify him as an Autobot, and by the looks of it, a relatively young one. He looked as if he was offline, but the Matrix was glowing softly - and wasn’t it also called the Matrix of Creation? Wouldn’t it be able to keep a mech alive?

Wing reached out with a trembling hand to gently touch the surface of the Matrix, but yanked it back immediately with a gasp when a burst of bright blue light exploded out from the crystal. He stared in disbelief as the Autobot moaned in pain, back arching. “Nnnnnhhhhh…”

His frame fell limp once again, but the Matrix glowed brighter than it had before.

Gathering the smaller mech up in his arms, Wing carried him back to New Crystal City. They weren’t going to believe this.

\--

When Hot Rod finally booted up, he was disoriented beyond belief. He had no idea how long it had been between when Megatron shot him and now, and when his optics came online, his confusion grew tenfold.

“He’s awake!”

He squinted his eyes as a bright light filled his vision. He blinked rapidly a few times, and once he was acclimated to the light, his gaze immediately locked onto the three mechs hovering over him. To his left, there was a white-and-red mech with a medic’s cross on his chassis, obviously a doctor. To his right, a stranger that looked extremely similar to the doctor. In the center towered Dai Atlas, a mech Hot Rod recognized - a former Senator, decorated war hero, and ancient mech. He’d seen him in a few newsfeeds, and his frame was distinct enough to commit to memory.

“W...where am I?”

“Here’s a better question,” Dai Atlas rumbled, pointing at Hot Rod’s chest accusingly, optics narrowed. “ _Where_ did you find that, _why_ is it lodged in your chassis, and _who_ are you?”

Hot Rod sat up enough to crane his neck to get a look at his chassis and gasped. The Matrix, previously chained around his neck, had forged itself into his plating, and although he still had some cosmetic damage, the massive gaping hole in his midsection was gone.

“Primus…”

He glanced up when Dai Atlas grunted. “We’re waiting.”

“I… I don’t know. Starscream had stolen the Matrix, and I went to get it back, and then Megatron shot me and the last thing I remember is being blasted off into space, in the dark and the cold, abandoned, with the Matrix…” He brushed his fingers over the surface of the ancient artifact, and the mechs above him let out a quiet collective gasp when the Matrix flared under his touch, glowing warmly.

“It’s bonded to him,” the medic whispered to Dai Atlas. “You know what this means, right?”

“I…” The massive blue mech heaved a sigh before turning his optics to Hot Rod. “Although the means by which this happened sounds highly...unconventional, the Matrix is indubitably bonded to your spark. Whether you like it or not, you are a Prime.”

\--

Despite his (many) protests, Dai Atlas had _insisted_ for Hot Rod’s arrival to be made public.

“You can’t just walk about with the Matrix like that,” the towering mech argued. “Be reasonable. People will ask questions at the very least. Although our religion here - spectralism - does not have any form of Prime worship, it is likely that others will treat you… differently. Also,” he continued, ignoring that Hot Rod was gazing plaintively at Wing with a silent plea for help, “your name isn’t very… befitting of a prime.”

Hot Rod snapped to attention. “What’s wrong with my name?!” he demanded.

With a level gaze, Dai Atlas explained simply, “It does not follow the pattern of Primus.” When Hot Rod gave him a blank look, he sighed and elaborated, “Prim-us. Sol-us. Nex-us.”

Under his breath, Hot Rod muttered, “Optim-us.” He did supposed that Orion Pax underwent a name change after the Matrix…

The thought of his Prime made Hot Rod’s tanks churn. This was _Optimus’_ Matrix. It wasn’t for him to keep - the intention was to snag it from the Decepticons and then return it to Optimus, not take it for himself!

“Listen, um, Dai Atlas, sir. This… this doesn’t belong to me.” He gestured to the glowing object over his spark. “I didn’t mean for this to happen; I was just retrieving it to give it back to the _true_ prime-”

Dai Atlas waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense,” he said. “The Matrix has a sort of sentience about it - not like ours, but it still possesses the capability of choosing who to bond with.” He leaned down, focusing in on the small hot rod. “When it was stolen, it didn’t bond to any of the thieves, did it?”

Hot Rod knew the question was more rhetorical and meant to make him think, but he shook his head anyway. “No,” he replied in a small voice. “I suppose not.”

Straightening back up, Dai Atlas folded his large gray hands together. “Well, there you have your answer,” he said simply. “From here on out, you will be known as Rodimus Prime, and that is the end of it.” 

He turned to Wing. “I’m going to convene with the other Knights to let them know about what has transpired and discuss preparations for the ceremony. You are to be his ward for now. I want you to stay with him; show him around the city. He shall stay with you for the time being.”

Hot… _Rodimus_ pouted and crossed his arms. “I’m _right here_ , you know! Don’t I get a say in any of this?! What if I don’t want to stay here?!

Evidently not, because with that, Dai Atlas gave a nod to the medic in thanks for his assistance, and then clapped a hand over Rodimus’ shoulder. It was only then that Rodimus noticed that his frame looked… different.

“It’s an honor to have you among us, young one. I hope you decide to stay.” Dai Atlas turned and left the room as the medic began unhooking Rodimus from the machines monitoring his vitals. 

“I’m Redline, by the way,” the doctor introduced himself with a soft, kind voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Grateful for the medic to treat him like a normal mech, Rodimus smiled as he helped him off the medical berth. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Redline. I suppose you already know who I am,” Rodimus laughed. Redline smiled warmly and clasped both of his hands over Rodimus’. “I hope you enjoy your time in our city.” He gestured over Rodimus’ shoulder to Wing, who was leaning against the wall. “Wing here is a wonderful mech. Not only are you very lucky he saved your life, but fortunate that your savior is such a kind, delightful person. He’ll take good care of you.”

Rodimus turned slightly to look at Wing, who was grinning but also blushing with embarrassment. “Aw, Red, you don’t have to talk me up like that. I just do what I know is right.”

He pushed up off the wall, walking towards the other jet and the speedster. Redline let go of Rodimus’ hands, his smile widening. “And that’s what makes you so wonderful. Now off with you too,” he said, firm but gentle. “Go have some fun. Show our newcomer the sights.”

Wing slung an arm over Rodimus’ shoulder, smiling from audial to audial. “I intend to.”

The pretty jet’s grin was infectious, and Rodimus couldn’t help but return it. If the city was half as nice as these mechs, he thought he might be okay with staying a while.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oh, I think I landed_   
>  _In a world I hadn't seen_   
>  _When I'm feeling ordinary_   
>  _When I don't know what I mean_
> 
> _Oh, I think I landed_   
>  _Where there are miracles at work_   
>  _When you got me open handed_   
>  _When you got me lost for words_
> 
> _And you get a head_  
>  _A head full of dreams_  
>  _You can see the change you want to_  
>  _With a head full, a head full of dreams_  
>  (Coldplay, “A Head Full of Dreams”)

With a flourish and a bow, the white jet introduced himself as Wing. “It is an honor, my Prime.” Rodimus blushed fiercely, but his frame loosened when he noticed a playful glint in the other’s golden optics. 

Rodimus smiled shyly, holding out his hand. “The honor is mine. You… You saved my life. I’m forever in your debt.”

The audial flares on Wing’s cheeks fluttered. “It was the right thing to do. Helping another is the highest calling one can aspire to,” he said sincerely. He then took Rodimus’ hand and shook it. The speedster couldn’t help but notice how smooth and unmarred his hand was. “Come on, let’s get out of here. If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to show you the city.”

Trying not to appear hesitant, Rodimus nodded and let Wing lead him outside, onto a balcony. The sight that he was met with took the speedster’s breath away.

“Welcome to the new Crystal City,” Wing announced proudly.

The two of them stood upon a large balcony that was used as a landing pad for flight-frame medics bringing in patients in critical condition (which were few and far between). It overlooked the whole city, built underground in a massive cavern but filled with enough luminescence to mimic real sunlight. Cobalt-colored skyscrapers, trimmed with silver and lined with golden glyphs, rose towards the ceiling of the cavern. Directly across from them was a skyscraper that had a blinding white light emanating from the top of its domed roof: the main source of outdoor light for the city, presumably.

“It’s beautiful,” Rodimus sighed, awestruck.

Wing smiled warmly. “Dai Atlas is surely going to have the preparations for your ceremony ready by this evening, but for now, would you like a tour?”

Rodimus wrinkled his nose a bit at the mention of the ceremony. “Don’t remind me,” he moaned. “I’m not even a real prime! The Matrix bonded to me out of desperation!”

With a shrug, Wing replied, “From any stance, the Matrix is visibly and undeniably bound to you, which, by definition, makes you a prime.” Rodimus opened his mouth to protest, but instead sighed in defeat. “Okay, okay. I guess that’s fair.” He then smiled at Wing, spoiler perking up. “If it isn’t any inconvenience, I’d love a tour, but won’t there be kind of a fuss over this?” Rodimus pointed to the very ostentatious artifact displayed on his chest.

Wing beamed, gently tugging Rodimus’ hand. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry. There are so many places I want to show you…! No one new has entered our civilization since it was built - save for sparklings - so I’ve never had the opportunity to show someone around,” he prattled as he tugged Rodimus close, much to the other’s surprise. “I have so many questions, too! I want you to tell me everything that’s happened in… well, the past four million years, I guess?” Rodimus gasped when the jet suddenly hefted him into his strong arms.

“W-wait…! What are you-?!”

Wing grinned and fired up his turbines, spread his wings, and shot up into the sky, a screaming prime in tow.

Having nowhere else to be until the evening, Wing took his good sweet time showing Rodimus around the city. He brought him to his favorite café for drinks, took him to the library, and showed him the knight’s Citadel, the heart of the city, the source of light for the entire establishment. All the while, he talked Rodimus’ audial off, pointing out places that held memories for him, teaching Rodimus about places of significance, the city’s history, and asking about a billion questions about Cybertron and the war, explaining that the Circle of Light had left during its beginning. Wing did his best to 

He had so much more he wanted to show Rodimus, but when Wing saw the younger mech yawn, he smiled sympathetically (and a little abashedly). “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m sure you’re exhausted after all that’s happened to you. Let’s go back to my apartment; that’s where you’ll be staying for the time being. I hope that’s alright with you.”

Rodimus smiled and nodded. “That’s fine with me. I think that’d be better than being in some unfamiliar place alone. I don’t know you very well, but you _did_ save my life, so I feel like if there’s anybody here I can feel safe around, it’d be you.” His optics shone with honesty, field full of trust and thanks. Wing felt his spark flutter happily.

“In that case, my apartment building is this way.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Maybe one day you’ll be happy_  
>  _We can remove those scars_  
>  _I can lift your damaged grace_  
>  _I'll be there to hold on to_  
>  _What a way to end a perfect day_  
>  (The Getaway Plan, “If The Suspense Doesn’t Kill Us, Something Else Will”)

It had only been a few days since Wing had taken Rodimus in, but they’d already hit things off.

The ceremony announcing the presence of a prime had gone as expected: a lot of pomp and excitement and fuss that Rodimus didn’t really care for, but in a way it was kind of nice to be greeted with open grins and honest happiness to meet him, rather than the empty smiles and half-hearted introductions he’d been accustomed to all his life. He knew that a good portion of their reactions were likely due to the fact that they viewed him as chosen by the Matrix rather than as a last resort, but they also seemed genuinely glad to meet someone new, despite a bit of underlying nervousness that the stranger might out their city and destroy their way of life. Every time Rodimus sensed that unease, he made sure to push all of the sincerity he could into his field to reassure these people that he would not betray them or their beautiful city.

Dai Atlas had told Wing that although the newcomer was unlikely to be any sort of threat due to the fact that the Matrix found him worthy, he wanted the younger knight to keep an eye on him, and for Rodimus to stay with him. Rodimus, thankfully, had no objections. “Where else would I go?” he’d laughed. 

Wing had brought him back to the apartment, located inside a tall building near the Citadel. By the time Wing opened the door, Rodimus was already vibrating with excitement, his field rich with anticipation. Although the knight didn’t think his flat was much to get excited over, he enjoyed the prime’s enthusiasm all the same. Something told him that the smaller mech hadn’t known much of comfort even in his life before the war.

Rodimus took in the sight of the apartment eagerly. The door opened up into the main living area, which took up the majority of the flat. It wasn’t terribly big, but it was roomy enough, and the large sliding glass door that took up the majority of the far wall made it seem bigger. The door led out onto a cobblestone balcony that had a fantastic view of the city.

Inside the living room, to the left there was a small couch, a lampstand on the side closest to them, with a small light on it, and a stout table in front of the couch. On the opposite wall was a decently-sized vidscreen, situated in an entertainment center that primarily housed books and a variety of rocks and crystals.

To their immediate left, there was an open-plan kitchen; there were no doors, but there was a wall around it that made it seem more like an actual room. When exiting the kitchen on the far side, one could either continue on into the living room, or turn left to what might be called a very small, horizontal hallway. The door straight across led to a washroom; the door to the right was a closet; and the door to the right was Wing’s room.

The other side of the apartment was identical, although instead of a closet it was a dead end. Although the “guest room” had a bed in it, it was obvious that Wing had been using it more as a storage room, as it was full of boxes and stacks of datapads.

The slight-disheveled state of the room hadn’t bothered Rodimus in the slightest. He had immediately flopped down onto the berth and revelled in the soft sheets and plush pillows. As he sighed dreamily that he’d never felt such soft fabrics and luxurious comfort in his life, Wing felt a tug at his spark. Rodimus’ unguarded wonder and sheer surprise at things in the city, even at the purity of the energon, hinted that his life even before the war had been less than glamorous. As for his situation during the war, Wing didn’t even want to imagine how awful it must’ve been.

Luxuriating in the soft berth, Rodimus lost track of all of his senses but touch. When he realized Wing was talking again, he shook himself out of his reverie. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I kind of zoned out,” he admitted sheepishly.

Ever patient, Wing sat down on the end of the bed and repeated with a smile, “I asked if you’d be up to going to the history museum. There’s special exhibit going on right now. A lot of people find museums boring, but-”

Rodimus brightened visibly, and before he could finish his sentence the prime piped up, “Sure! Sounds great! I love learning about history. I grew up surrounded by history - literally. I made my home inside of an abandoned religious center. Spent a lot of time studying the relics, carvings and scripts.”

Wing’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, mind skirting over the word ‘abandoned’. “That sounds incredible! I’d love to see it someday.”

Rodimus chuckled weakly and rubbed the back of his neck, his cheerful demeanor waning. He sunk further back into the berth, almost as if he wanted to retreat into its plushness and hide. “I wish I could show it to you,” he said quietly. “It burned down. The whole city did.” He abruptly stood to walk to the small kitchen area to put his empty cube in the sink. “I’m not sure at what point during the war you left… I guess it hadn’t officially started yet, but Megatron and the ‘cons were already causing a lot of destruction. Did you ever hear about what happened to Nyon?”

The hot rod didn’t have to be in the other room to hear Wing’s soft gasp. “You’re… you’re from Nyon? I heard that very few escaped…”

At first, Rodimus nodded, but then realized Wing couldn’t see him. Still staring into the sink, he croaked, “Yeah.” He mustered up the courage to walk back into the living room, making halting eye contact with the knight. “I’m the reason it burned.”

Rodimus wasn’t sure what he expected Wing’s reaction to be: anger? Disgust? Shock? To kick him out of the apartment? To report him to Dai Atlas? Whatever it was, the _last_ thing he expected was for Wing to rise from the corner of the bed, move over to where Rodimus lay, and throw his arms around the scarlet mech.

“Oh, Roddy,” he breathed, voice and field laden with sympathy and sorrow on the other mech’s behalf. He blushed deeply at the nickname - no one had called him ‘Roddy’ since… since…

He gave into the embrace, holding Wing tightly, burying his face against the other’s neck cables. He practically pulled Wing down with him. The knight gave in and crawled into the berth next to Rodimus. “You don’t have to talk about it,” Wing said softly, rubbing the shorter mech’s back. Rodimus nodded as well as he could with his face buried against the other’s neck. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you.” His field surrounded Wing with gratefulness, the jet’s pushing back with comfort.

“Thank you,” Rodimus croaked, holding Wing tighter. “I appreciate it.”

“Anything for my Prime,” the knight murmured, stroking the other’s helm gently. Rodimus trembled in the other’s arms, letting the words seep into him, and he knew that Wing meant them.

\--

Once Rodimus had pulled himself together, the two of them untangled from one another and headed over to the Museum of Cybertronian History. The hot rod had made it clear that flying was NOT an option; Wing laughed and said it would be nice to walk there, since they’d go through an area of the city he hadn’t shown Rodimus yet. Having been there for only a few days, he hadn’t seen much yet. The first two days had been a whirlwind of introductions and questions and pushing through culture shock and it had left Rodimus exhausted, so day three was dedicated to settling into the apartment, resting, and getting to know one another. But now, Rodimus was eager to see more of the city.

They took their time on the way to the museum, Wing pointing out places of interest: the library (a thing in which Rodimus had never seen), Wing’s body shop, a couple of nice restaurants, and a beautiful crystal garden that Wing promised they’d go to on another day.

Once they got to the museum, Rodimus was immediately impressed. The outside of the building was gleaming gold, the arch over the high doorway writing in Old Cybertronian, something Rodimus couldn’t read but looked beautiful. As far as he could tell, there were no actual doors; it then occurred to him that in a place such as this, they probably didn’t have to worry about crime, so there really wouldn’t need to be such things except for reasons of privacy.

The pair slowly made their way through the halls, Rodimus taking his time to closely examine each exhibit and read the information placards. Whenever they came across something particularly interesting to him, the hot rod’s spoiler fluttered. When he noticed texts containing glyphs he’d seen inside the Acroplex, his field flared brightly with excitement. “Oh! Oh! I recognize this!” he gushed, tapping on the protective glass, spoiler flapping like a pair of wings. It was adorable. Wing let out a hearty laugh that echoed through the corridor, drawing the hot rod’s attention. “Oh, my,” he chuckled with a wide smile. “Rodimus Prime of Nyon, you are an absolute joy.” 

Rodimus quickly looked away to hide his fierce blush, but his field gave his embarrassment away. Wing laughed again, and slung an arm around Rodimus, pulling him closer. “I mean it,” he said more quietly as they walked along through the Hall of Ancient Texts, not bothering to stop at any of the other exhibits to examine the scrolls closely. They could always return some other time. “I’m glad you’re here. If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t really get much company… aside from Dai Atlas and Axe, who are more formal relationships, I don’t have any close companions. It might be due to my rebellious nature,” he quipped, quirking a smile, “but either way, It’s nice to have someone to talk to, to share things with.”

They came to the end of the hall, back at the lobby of the entrance, and walked outside. And there on the front steps of the museum, Wing tugged Rodimus into a near-crushing embrace. “You might view me as having rescued you,” he said to the surprised mech, “but really, you rescued me. Corny as that sounds.” Rodimus’ surprised expression softened and he tentatively wrapped his arms around the knight and let their EM fields fully mesh together. Damn whoever might stop and stare at the display of affection.

“Thank you,” Wing whispered against the side of the slightly smaller mech’s helm.

Rodimus stroked a hand down Wing’s spinal strut, eliciting a small shiver. “Thank you, too.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I was running far away_  
>  _I got no place to go_  
>  _I can’t take it anymore_  
>  _And I kept running_  
>  _For a soft place to fall_  
>  _Now take me home, where I belong_  
>  _I can’t take it anymore_  
>  (Runaway, AURORA)

Deadlock had tried to overthrow his commanding officer. Unfortunately, a mutiny isn’t very effective when you’re the only mutineer.

His crewmates had him pinned against the wall and in stasis cuffs, the captain - Turmoil - stalking toward him, field heavy with disapproval. He leaned in close, his orange visor blaring brightly in Deadlock’s optics, but he didn’t shrink back an inch.

“Betrayer,” Turmoil spat.

“You _need_ me, Turmoil,” Deadlock replied, his ruby optics blazing intensely.

“Like I need a _disease_.”

Turmoil leveled his fusion cannon at him, calling him reckless and desperate. “I’m _trying_ to win this war!” Deadlock had responded, wiggling in his bounds. Ignoring his second-in-command, Turmoil powered up his cannon, its blue light glowing brighter and brighter inches from Deadlock’s face.

At the last moment, in a show of flexibility unusual for most Cybertronians, Deadlock kicked Turmoil’s cannon away, it’s blast firing a hole in the wall to the speedster’s right. In their shock, the bots pinning Deadlock against the wall loosened their grip just long enough for him to break free. He sprinted straight for the control panel, initiating the emergency protocol lockdown so that by the time they’d be able to get the systems back online, he’d be too far away for them to track him. He then hopped into an escape pod and jettisoned himself out into the dark void of space with the knowledge that he would now be marked as a traitor to the Cause. Yay for having enemies on both sides.

\--

Although the escape pod had some rudimentary steering, there was no means of landing gear, so when Deadlock reached a planet, he braced himself for impact.

He crawled out of the wreckage with a grunt, and scanned over the landscape. Looked like a bunch of nothing: an organic planet likely, sandy desert for as far as the optic could see. All alone for the first time in millions of years, memories from his past hit Deadlock like a ton of steel bars.

Images of Rodion’s gutters rushed into his head, and his spark throbbed with a kind of pain he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. It just served as a reminder of how badly they needed to win the war, and he needed to be part of it.

When he inhaled, he almost choked, the cloying scent of the gutters filling his olfactory sensors. The smell of spoiled oil, half-processed energon, rust, the dead and dying. He remembers leaning at the base of a crumbling building, empty cans of Nightmare Fuel littered around him. And then, someone blocking out the little hazy light that reached past Rodion’s gleaming upper structures, holding out a hand to him.

There was no one there to save him this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one, but expect a reunion soon :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's a shame that we're not soul mates_  
>  _'Cause if I didn't know better, I'd say this feels pretty good_  
>  _And how could I be scared?_  
>  _When I stretch and feel you're there_  
>  _I can't help but think_  
>  _You're my missing puzzle piece_  
>  (Flatsound, “I Exist I Exist I Exist”)

It hadn’t come as a surprise to Wing when Rodimus asked if he could stay.

“Not necessarily _here,_ ” Rodimus explained, gesturing to the apartment around them with one hand, his afternoon energon in the other. “I already feel like I’m kind of imposing.” Before Wing was able to tell him otherwise, he continued, “But I want to stay here in the city. I feel bad about up and ditching the war, and for holding onto this rather than giving it back to its rightful owner…” He trailed off and frowned, touching the glass of the Matrix on his chest.

Wing shook his head and placed his hand over Rodimus’, right over the Matrix. “Rodimus, no matter who held it before you, the Matrix is bonded to _you_ now. _You_ are its rightful owner. Do you understand?” Rodimus nodded, although he still felt like he had stolen it from Optimus.

“Good.” Wing smiled that dashing smile of his that made Rodimus feel warm and fuzzy inside. “And know that you are welcome to stay - be it in your own apartment, or… here with me, if you’d like. Whatever makes you most comfortable.” Rodimus smiled and looked at their hands, feeling his spark and the Matrix pulse in tandem beneath their palms. “I would like that,” he replied softly.

The knight beamed, and pulled Rodimus into an embrace, folding his arms around the smaller mech and nuzzling his cheek, an action that made the prime’s cheeks burn with abashment. “Me too,” Wing admitted.

Rodimus had noticed that Wing was very fond of hugging, but due to the fact that he didn’t receive much contact from others, the poor knight was probably touch-starved, and if he was being honest with himself, Rodimus was too, and he’d never complain.

\--

The two mechs spent a couple hours leaning against each other on the sofa, watching TV together.  
It wasn’t a novelty he had growing up, and nothing fictional was created for broadcast during the war, so Rodimus hadn’t had experience with it until coming to New Crystal City. He found that he really enjoyed it, but not enough so sit for hours on end watching. He got antsy too easily, wanted to get up and switch activities, but the weight of Wing’s head on his shoulder was enough to keep him still in his seat.

When Wing felt a soft ‘whoosh’ of air from Rodimus’ vents, he looked up at him and chuckled: he’d dozed off, head tilted back and lips parted. Wing smiled and carefully got up to grab a blanket out of Rodimus’ room and draped it across his sleeping form. Hmm… this could be the perfect time to get back out.

He went to his room and fished the burlap robes and cape out of his closet, securing the fabric around his body with ropes, and sheathed his swords, the Great Sword attached to his back as always. Before leaving, Wing scribbled a note on a datapad and set it down next to Rodimus.

_Dear Rodimus,_  
_I have to take care of some things. I probably won’t be back in time for evening energon, and if I don’t come back before you go to recharge, don’t worry. I’m sorry for being so vague; I’ll tell you about it later.  
_ _Yours, Wing._

When Rodimus awoke about an hour later and read the note, he blushed at how Wing had signed it. “ _Yours._ ” Did Wing think of himself as belonging to Rodimus? Why? And why did the thought make the prime’s spark throb with emotions he couldn’t quite place? 

__He shook his head, trying to clear his processor. He was probably reading into it too much._ _

__\--_ _

__Rodimus sound asleep, Wing quietly left the apartment and stealthily made his way around the outskirts of the city, feeling along the wall for the hidden door that led to the surface. Once he’d found it, he made his way up the winding staircase, and upon catching the first glimpse of sunlight, let out a sigh._ _

__New Crystal City was situated in a cavern big enough that flying was no problem, even without worry of air traffic, but nothing compared to fresh air. Unfortunately, there would be no flying - even at night, it would be too dangerous to risk someone seeing and following him back to the city._ _

__The twin suns were low on the horizon, the sky swirling in shades of orange and rose gold on one side, the sky having already darkened on the other. He headed towards the mountain that had been hollowed out by the local slavers to conceal their works. When he reached the top, he peered over the edge to spot any potential guards to take out, and to his surprise, there was a figure crouching just a few feet ahead of him. Was that… a Cybertronian?_ _

__Inside, Wing started to panic a little. What if this was some sort of bounty hunter, sent to track down Rodimus and haul him in? What if they found the city? What if they hurt people? What if they hurt _Rodimus?__ _

__Hoping to ambush the other, Wing reigned in his EM field and quietly leapt onto the platform, but the other mech must’ve been well trained, for he sensed even the stealthy knight. Sharp red optics turned on him as the stranger - **definitely** Cybertronian - swung a fist, Wing easily jumping back out of its range. He used the momentum of his second swing to pull him to his feet, but Wing evaded that punch as well, and when the mech backed him against a stone outcropping, the knight surprised him by jumping high above his head, the mech growling in frustration as his fist hit solid rock._ _

__When Wing landed in a crouch, he swiveled around tried to placate the other with words, but reached for his sword, just in case. “Calm yourself, stranger. I’m a friend.”_ _

__“‘Friend’?” the mech scoffed, his posture loosening slightly. Upper half now fully exposed by the light of the slave trafficking hub, Wing recognized the purple symbol on the other’s chest: Decepticon. “You don’t know me.”_ _

__Wing straightened as well, removing his hand from his sword. “I don’t need to know you to mean you no harm.” He took a step forward and reached out a gloved hand, his field extending with greeting. “I am your Ally. My name is Wing.” He tilted his head curiously, taking another step toward the Decepticon. “Where did you come from? You’re not from this planet.”_ _

__He tried to not let any nervousness slip into his voice or field. “Are there others of your kind with you?”_ _

__The warrior jerked a thumb towards the tall structure, inadvertently drawing Wing’s attention to the stasis lock on his forearm. “I need to get out of here. I need a ship.” He looked down at it, the bottom hundreds of feet down, where the alien slavers could be seen milling about. “You’re one of them? They’re friends of yours?”_ _

__Wing shook his head, although much of the effect was lost by the hood of his cloak. He moved forward and leaned over the crater, pointing to the green windows in the structure. “They’re friend to no one.”_ _

__The stranger squinted to see through the hazy glass, his squint morphing into to a glare when he saw that each window led to a tiny cell, as many prisoners cramped into each as possible. “They’re slave traders,” Wing explained. “They capture all manner of races and bring them here.” He turned back to the Decepticon. “You need a ship, I can help you. In turn, you can help me.”_ _

__“ _Help_ you?”_ _

__Wing nodded again, flexing his fingers in the uncomfortable gloves. “I wish to free their captives. Alone, it would be impossible, but together-”_ _

__When the other mech cut him off, Wing thought it would be an immediate rejection. However, he only told him that he’d need a gun._ _

__He glanced back down at the slavers, and then turned to Wing once more. “Two guns.”_ _

__Behind his mask, Wing smiled._ _

__When he told the other mech that he must take the captives with him on the ship they commandeered, he turned a deadpan look on him. “Not likely.”_ _

__Wing had always considered the possibility that perhaps one of the slaves would be able to fly a ship, but here was someone who was an actual pilot! “I can’t leave this planet. You _must_ do this,” he practically begged. “Helping another is the highest calling one can aspire to.”_ _

__The Decepticon sighed irritatedly and tossed his head. “You sound like an Autobot,” he scoffed._ _

__Wing played dumb. “What does an Autobot sound like?”_ _

__Optics glinting in the starlight, the warrior sized up the knight with a frown. “Weak.”_ _Attacking the guards didn’t go quite as well as Wing had hoped. Apparently, they had recently outfitted themselves with wrist-mounted flamethrowers. The dark mech had flinched out of the way, but Wing was caught off-guard, and his cloth disguise was instantly doused in flames._ _

__After the other was finished taking out his guard, he turned to Wing, all to have his breath hitch. Before him stood a sleek white-and-red flight frame, the last of his disguise burning up and sliding off his armor, creating the illusion of an aura of flames around the gorgeous mech._ _

__All he could choke out was, “You’re Cybertronian!”_ _

__He mentally facepalmed. _Thanks for the update, Captain Obvious!_ he thought to himself._ _

__Wing sighed and tore off the last scraps of his disguise. Well, the cybercat was out of the bag._ _

__The Decepticon jabbed a finger at him and said accusingly, “I _knew_ you were an Autobot.”_ _

_Dusting himself off, Wing replied, “I’m no Autobot. Let’s go.”_

__“Well, you’re no Decepticon, that’s for sure,” the other mech mumbled under his breath. Who was this guy? Some sort of neutral? “What are you?” he insisted, grabbing Wing’s arm._ _

__With a sigh, the knight turned his head. “Alone is what I am,” he stated. “I’m alone.” He wasn’t prepared for his spark to tighten with a deep ache. He ignored it. “Now if you want to get out of here, we’d better move.”_ _

__Wing explained the plan to the Decepticon, telling him where the captives were. “And the ship?”_ _

__“Far end,” the jet said quickly. “When the alarm sounds, you keep them back, and I’ll open the cells.” He looked over with a warm smile. “What’s your name?”  
He was caught a little off-guard, both by the question and the smile. Old memories, old names. “Drift.”_ _

__As he stood and unsheathed two energy blades, he said, “Good luck, Drift.”_ _

__\--_ _

__As soon as Wing and Drift landed on the ground, the alarms went off, aaaaaaaaand Drift was running the wrong way. “What are you doing?!” the jet shouted over the blaring noise._ _

__Ah, of course. The ship. Wing mentally smacked himself in the face. How could be be so naive?_ _

__Within an instant, one of the slavers had appeared behind Drift, and despite the warrior’s prowess, by the time he sensed the creature it was too late. The beast swung down two massive purple fists, first knocking Drift to the ground harshly. Despite the pain, he tried to scrabble away, kicking up dirt as he reached for his gun, a few feet ahead of him. He was too slow. The organic smashed his fists down once more._ _

__The last thing Drift saw before offlining was a purple organic, looking down at him with clear interest. His audials caved in, he couldn’t hear what it was saying, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good._ _

__His visual feed flickered before he lost consciousness._ _

__\--_ _

__The sickening crunch of buckled plating catching Wing’s attention from where he’d been trying to release as many slaves as possible before the slavers reached him. His head whipped around, and he gasped at Drift’s limp, shuddering form on the ground, legs completely crushed beyond repair and lying in a pool of his own energon._ _

__By then, slavers had all but filled the clearing, surrounding Drift’s crumpled body._ _

__Shit. They were out of time._ _

__Wing started his engine, nacelles whirring, unfolded his wings, and shot forward, grabbing Drift and then immediately curving up. He ignored the shouting of the assailants below as he skyrocketed up into the cold night air, and immediately headed for the city._ _

__This is NOT what he’d intended. Now he was bringing _another_ outsider into the city, this time a fierce Decepticon warrior, and he knew that things were not going to go well for him._ _

__As the wind rushed by his audials, the knight glanced down at Drift, his optics flickering dimly. His EM field was but a whisper of distress and pain._ _

__Things didn’t look like they were going to go well with Drift, either._ _


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The angry boy a bit too insane_   
>  _Icing over a secret pain_   
>  _You know you don't belong_   
>  _You're the first to fight_   
>  _You're way too loud_   
>  _I know something's wrong_
> 
> _Maybe today_  
>  _You could put the past away_  
>  _You could cut ties with all the lies_  
>  _That you've been living in_  
>  (Third Eye Blind, “Jumper”)

When Drift came to, it was to the fuzzy image of two red-and-white blobs at the edges of his vision, optics squinting against the bright light.

“All systems back online?” a familiar voice asked. _Wing_ , his HUD prompted. “He’s moving.”

He sat up a little too quickly, processor reeling, and forced his optics to adjust to the harsh lighting. He appeared to be in… a medical ward? Three mechs stood around the examination table he’d been lying on: one familiar, two not. One of them looked a lot like Wing but had the traditional Cybertronian Medical Cross on his chest plating, clearly marking him as the doctor.

Like Wing, none of them wore badges.

“What’s happening? What… What’s going on?”

Wing leaned forward.. “Your body was severely damaged. Almost completely destroyed,” he chirped, a smile on his face. Drift scowled. If he’d nearly been killed, then what did he have to be so happy about?!

A tall mech standing a bit further back from Wing and the doctor rumbled, “We rebuilt you, Decepticon. Your life was saved.”

A thousand warnings popped up in Drift’s head all at once. He scrambled off the slab, backing away from the three mechs. “ _Rebuilt me?!_ ” he all but shrieked, and pointed a finger at them. “Who ARE you?!”

Wing held up his hands in a placating gesture, expression now serious. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I took you out of there. You would have died,” he explained. Drift shook his head in disbelief.

“Took me out of there? To _where?_ ” He backed up through a doorway, the clinical light of the hospital room giving way to something more natural. He turned around to face his new surroundings and gasped.

It was the city he’d seen in his dreams.

“I told you, you’re safe. No one will harm you here.” Wing came to stand beside him, and smirked at the slack-jawed Decepticon gaping at the view.

“Welcome,” the knight proudly announced, “to the new Crystal City.”

\--

It was like nothing he could’ve imagined existing outside his dreams.

He knew there were beautiful cities before - Cybertron had plenty before the war, not that he was allowed in them (except when ransacking them once he was running with the cons). Rodion, his home, was a glorious city, shimmering and golden, but he lived in the lower levels - the gutters - where the sunlight barely filtered down and there was nothing but crime, misery and death. Not that the glory upstairs wasn’t a façade in itself.

Drift walked alongside Wing as the knight prattled on about the origin of their “Circle of Light”, how they’d left Cybertron when the war kicked up, and how the city had come to be. The Decepticon only half-paid attention, focusing more on the city itself. It was… marvelous. But just like the cities of old, it must be hiding some dark secret.

When the words “ideological battle” crossed his audials, Drift snapped to attention. “‘Ideological?’” he spat, turning on the jet. “We were at war for the future of Cybertron. We ARE at war for-”

“Your war **damned** the future of Cybertron,” Wing interjected, a sharp edge to his voice. Drift scoffed, undeterred. “So I should have _run?_ Crawled off to live underground in a city of _cowards?_ ”

Wing didn’t even flinch. “We rescued thousands and took action to protect what was left of the Cybertronian way of life,” he stated. Turning away, he spread an arm out, showcasing their surroundings. “Look around you. This is no mere city; this is a _utopia_.

“No sickness, no poverty, no one forgotten to fall between the cracks.”

He turned back to Drift, who had stopped walking and closed his eyes, head tilted down. “What is it you’re actually fighting for? What is it that convinced you to take up arms? You’re no run-of-the-mill brute,” he said, field extending to mesh with Drift’s, who quickly snatched his away. “You believe in something. I can see it.”

“You see nothing,” Drift snapped, voice low, a warning.

Wing continued anyway. “Cybertron was falling apart before the war. Our society was sick and bloated and rotten. Do you remember?” He tilted his head, trying to get a better look at Drift’s face. “Do you remember how difficult it was? Because for some, it was almost impossible.”

Suddenly, Drift was back there again, on the ground, back propped up against a rusty wall in some alleyway. He’d downed a couple cans of nightmare fuel on an empty tank and was already feeling it. From somewhere above Wing’s voice seemed to float down, wispy and paper-thin. “Could you have ever imagined anything like this?”

Drift’s mind warped and suddenly he was back in the present, Wing’s words now crisp and clear in his audials. “Tell me, Decepticon,” he said, “What do you think? Do you want to destroy _this,_ , too?”

Instead of responding, Drift started walking again. Wing didn’t say anything else.

\--

As soon as Dai Atlas had heard that Wing brought in _another_ outsider, he’d demanded to see him as well as Wing, and when he was told that the stranger had been critically wounded and was in surgery, Wing refusing to leave his bedside, Axe nearly had to physically restrain him to keep the Circle’s leader from flying to the hospital himself. He’d convened the Circle of Light and commed Wing to come IMMEDIATELY after the outsider was in condition to walk.

When they’d arrived at the Citadel, Wing told Drift to wait outside.

“How do you know I won’t run off?” Drift replied with a smirk. Wing gave him a withering look that seemed to say, “I should’ve left you to the slavers.”

Wing had barely set foot into the council hall when Dai Atlas’ booming voice reached him. “You had NO right bringing a Decepticon here, Wing! Let ALONE revealing yourself to the slavers. Bringing in ONE outsider was far more than enough - I can overlook the situation with Rodimus Prime because he is, well, a Prime. But a _Decepticon?_ ”

“He was in need, Dai Atlas, as were the prisoners in that camp,” Wing said plaintively. 

“HE is a DECEPTICON,” Dai Atlas spat.

“He’s one of our _kind_ ,” Wing insisted. Dai Atlas moved forward and bent down, his face mere inches from Wing’s own. “Decepticons are _not_ our kind,” he growled.

Wing’s engine revved angrily. “So, after all these years of preaching against factions, we’ve created our OWN, is that it?”

Dai Atlas stood up straight, his face set in a deep scowl as he loomed over Wing. “WE are the Circle of Light, the guardians of Cybertron’s ancient culture,” he boomed, deep voice reverberating off the council room’s walls. “You KNOW our laws, we MUST not involve ourselves with ANY outsiders! I made an exception with Rodimus Prime, but every day I ask myself if I made the right decision. NOTHING is more important than preserving what we have here.”

His leaders words were like a blow to Wing’s chest. “At what cost?” he said softly, clenching his fists. The observing knights dialed up their audials to hear his words. “Our own compassion? Those prisoners _need_ us. _He_ needs us. If he goes to the surface, they’ll kill him.”

Axe, Dai’s second-in-command, stepped forward. “His ways could influence our people, Wing.” Dai Atlas added, “Violence is their only language,” he warned. “If he betrays us, if he destroys what we have here, the burden will be yours and yours ALONE.

“For now, the Decepticon will be your responsibility,” he ordered, pointing to Wing. “You will stay with him at all times. And he is NOT to be exposed to the people of this city. I also advise you to suggest our Prime to seek alternate housing. There are surely uninhabited flats in your building.” Wing opened his mouth to object, but before he could say anything, Axe spoke up. “I know the two of you are close and that he stays with you voluntarily,” he said sympathetically. “And while we doubt a Prime would be easily influenced, we worry for his safety.”

“Sir, he was an excellent soldier for the Autobots before coming here,” Wing assured him. “I’m he can most certainly hold his own if any situation turns south. Which I don’t expect it to,” he added quickly.

Forcing himself to calm down, Wing placed a hand on their leader’s forearm. “Please, Dai Atlas,” he begged. “There’s something special about him. He has potential. I can feel it.”

Dai Atlas looked to Axe, who simply shrugged. “If the lad says it’ll be fine, it’ll be fine,” he said. “I trust our Wing.”

Turning back to the smaller of the three, he found Wing beaming up at him hopefully. With a long suffering sigh, he said, “Dismissed.”

The smaller of the three beamed up at him. “Thank you, Axe,” he said gratefully. “Both of you. I will not let you down. _He_ won’t let us down.”

No one - not even Wing - was 100% sure about that.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I never believed that things happen for a reason_   
>  _They never go as planned_   
>  _Where we've been has left us burned_   
>  _Still I won't turn now from a fight you know I'll never win_   
>  _You know all the things I’ve done_   
>  _Time passes and it tells us what we're left with_   
>  _We become the things we do_
> 
> _I'm a fool, spent from defiance_  
>  _I can't promise I will mend or bend_  
>  _But when I see you, despite all that we've become_  
>  _I'm still blinded_  
>  (Third Eye Blind, “When I See You”)

When Rodimus heard the door unlock, he greeted Wing but didn’t look up from the documentary on pre-war Cybertron he’d been engrossed in, reclining comfortably on the couch. Of course, it only showed how the uppers lived: a clean, gleaming planet, with not even a mention of the filth Nyon had become when Zeta turned on them. All the same, it was captivating to see how other people lived. It was rather similar to what they had in New Crystal City, but in his opinion, this city was better: no corruption or poverty or misery.

“Oh, good, you’re still up. I should’ve called ahead, but… long story short, we have a new, ah, roommate.” Rodimus suddenly sat up straight and looked over in confusion and curiosity. Before Wing was able to even begin introducing the newcomer, the red mech gasped in shock, dropping the datapad onto his lap.

Rodimus immediately recognized the other mech, despite the rebuilds he’d gone through. His optics widened until they were nearly bulging from his face “D-Deadlock…?!”

Despite maintaining a mostly neutral expression other than brightly flaring optics, a tidal wave of emotions roiled through Deadlock’s field like a monsoon: primarily shock, with several other indiscernible things that Rodimus didn’t catch because the other mech quickly snapped his EM field back to his frame like a rubber band.

“Hot Rod,” he responded cooly, only the slightest strain audible in his voice.

Baffled, Wing looked back and forth between the two mechs, and even though the mech beside him had introduced himself as ‘Drift’, it was clear they two had met before. “You two… know each other?”

Rodimus nodded weakly. He felt if someone had removed his abilities to speak and move. Deadlock, on the other hand, scoffed and crossed his arms. He glared at Rodimus, albeit not with the strength of his normal murderous gaze. “USED to know each other,” he sneered, a bit more malice in his voice than he’d intended. As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt small and petty.

Rodimus flinched at the other’s response, the harsh words pulling him from his trance. At first, he looked scared and hurt and absolutely _devastated_ , but the pain slowly morphed into rage. “Did we?” he snapped.

Confusion flashed over Deadlock’s face. Before he could reply, Rodimus stood up and stalked up to his old friend. Deadlock took the opportunity to size him up: his former partner was now taller, his streamlined frame sleeker, brighter. He was _stunning_ , and Deadlock was hard pressed to not rush up to him and touch this new frame, see if all its sweet spots were the same as before. Caress the body of his once-lover, tell him how glorious he looked, and...

Was that _the Matrix…?_

He stopped that line of thought dead in its tracks when the Autobot snapped, “You _sound_ like him. You even kind of _look_ like him. But you’re _not my Deadlock_.”

_His_ Deadlock…?

The two speedsters stared each other down, their frames sizzling with contempt.

Wing silently beseeched Primus, _“Out of all the millions of mecha you could have sent to me, how is it that I ended up with two who not only know each other, but have an obviously complicated past together?”_

After a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence and palpable resentment smothering the three of them, Wing reset his vocalizer, a bit more loudly than he’d intended.

Wing sheepishly interrupted, “Ah, Hot Rod goes by the name of Rodimus now, seeing as he is a prime-”

Deadlock scoffed, tossing his head. “Just because he has the Matrix doesn’t make him a prime.”

A bit agitated, Wing moved around to stand next to Rodimus. “The Matrix is literally bonded to him.” He gestured to the hot rod’s chassis and the bauble very clearly melded to his frame. “How else would you define a prime?” 

Deadlock just shrugged noncommittally. “I’ve never really subscribed to the whole ‘prime’ thing.” That was fair enough - he’d never been particularly religious, albeit a bit curious about Rod’s beliefs. Either way, his remark did nothing to alleviate the tension in the room. After another moment or so of uncomfortable silence, Deadlock and Rodimus staring into each other’s souls with Wing awkwardly glancing between the two of them, the jet suddenly clapped his hands.

“Well! I can see that this isn’t going to be a good arrangement for anyone.” The other two mechs startled slightly at the the knight’s voice, both turning to Wing. “Rodimus, you haven’t been staying with me for long, but you’ve expressed that you would like to stay here… I hate to propose it, but Dai Atlas suggested you make arrangements for your own apartment. However, it may be for the best,” he apologized with a grimace. “He has been adamant that despite you already staying here with me, I am required to house Drift, er, Deadlock and keep watch on him at all times.” It felt strange calling the new mech ‘Deadlock’ since he’d introduced himself as ‘Drift’, but… it wasn’t that important. Wing would figure that out later.

Deadlock’s field flared with agitation. “What?! He’s an outsider too!” He pointed an accusing finger at Rodimus. “How come he doesn’t have to be babysat?! And,” he continued furiously, whipping his head around to stare at Rodimus, “What does he mean that you want to _stay_ here?!”

Wing did his level best to remain patient and not regret making the decision to save this mech’s life, and interjected before the hot rod had to reply. “Rodimus has been with us for some time, and has proven himself worthy of our trust. You must do the same if you wish to live on your own.”

“Live on my- do you expect _me_ to stay here?” Deadlock asked incredulously.

Rodimus rolled his eyes, and pointed a finger to the back of the living space to the sliding glass doors that led out to the balcony. “Have you _seen_ this place? It’s perfect! Why _wouldn’t_ you want to stay?”

“Uh, maybe because I’m not a _deserter_ ,” Deadlock sneered. “I’m not a _traitor_ to my kind. I swore an oath that I would fight for my cause till the very end. Unlike some of us, I _keep_ my promises.”

Ooh. That stung. Rodimus knew that he wasn’t only referring to the war.

“Listen, Deadlock… I had every intention of going back to you, but-”

“But nothing!” Deadlock shouted, waving his arms and advancing on the smaller mech. “It’s too little, too late. The bottom line is that you didn’t, and now everything is ruined.” He refrained from allowing his voice to crack, grinding out his next words painfully. “You mean _nothing_ to me. Not anymore.”

Rodimus shrank back as if he’d been physically wounded, his optics welling up with tears. Abandoning his datapad on the couch, he fled to the guest bedroom, slamming the door shut, followed by the audible click of a lock.

Wing sighed. This was shaping up to be the biggest challenge he’d faced in a very long time, possibly ever. He… wasn’t good with confrontation, especially being the mediator. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had to do such a thing. People in the city didn’t really fight much.

Deadlock grumpily stormed over to the couch, flopping onto it unceremoniously and powering down his optics. “I’m going to recharge,” he grumbled.

The knight nodded, field swarming with despair and regret. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll figure things out in the morning.”

The Decepticon replied with a noncommittal grunt. With a sigh, Wing dragged his feet to his room, across the living space from Rodimus’. He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life, but right now, this was shaping up to be the worst.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It isn't much, but it's enough_  
>  _To form imaginary lines_  
>  _Forget your scars, we'll forget mine_  
>  _The hours change so fast_  
>  _Oh God, please make this last_  
>  (Mayday Parade, “I Swear This Time I Mean It”)

Exhausted from the previous day’s events, Deadlock slept in as much as he could. However, once Wing was up, despite how quiet he was trying to prepare breakfast, Deadlock was a light sleeper. You had to be, growing up on the streets and then running with the cons.

He sat up on the couch, rubbing bleary optics, and looked ahead to see Wing puttering about in the kitchen, humming softly as he prepared three glasses of warm energon. Deadlock’s movement caught his eye. “Oh! Drift! You’re up!” Urgh. It was going to be irritating if Wing was going to call him ‘Drift’ and Rodimus call him ‘Deadlock’. “What kind of additives do you like in your energon?”

Deadlock cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

“Additives.” Wing held up a small silver container with writing on it that Deadlock couldn’t read from where he was sitting. “You know, extras to put in your energon? Rodimus likes his spiced. I myself prefer it sweetened. What kind of flavoring do you like?”

Face still blank, Deadlock just blinked. “Uh. Plain energon’s fine with me.”

The warrior thought that Wing would press and he’d be forced to pick something so he wouldn’t have to admit that he’d never had flavored energon, but thankfully, the jet simply shrugged and said, “Suit yourself,” before turning back to the glasses, lightly shaking the small container in his hand. Deadlock watched tiny flakes of something drift down into one of the glasses and dissolve into the energon, giving it an orange-ish hue.

Once Wing had finished preparing the drinks, he came out of the kitchen with them on a tray, along with a plate of some sort of little pastries. “This one’s yours,” Wing said, pointing to one of the glasses. “I’m going to see if Rodimus is up yet.”

Ah, yes. How could he forget. Behind the wall to his left, his former friend and lover lay sleeping. It was a strange thought. A memory of the two of them laying beside on that ratty old mattress when they were young flashed through his mind. He shook his head as if to dislodge it.

When Wing returned, Rodimus was at his side, looking a little ruffled. His spoiler was tilted at an angle and his vents were all wide open, his engine still idling. His optics, squinting against the morning light coming through the sliding glass doors, cycled open wide when he spotted Deadlock sitting up on the sofa.

“Oh. Uh. Hi. You’re… still here.”

Deadlock snatched his energon off the tray. “Not like I can go anywhere,” he grumbled, casting a glance at Wing, who’d sat down on the floor on the opposite side of the low table in front of the couch after fetching Rodimus. The prime tentatively picked up his glass, as if afraid that Deadlock would reach out and grab him as soon as they were in close proximity. He then sat down beside Wing, keeping his gaze averted, while Deadlock stared directly at him, even while drinking. Wing shifted awkwardly, sipping his energon, praying for anything to interrupt the uncomfortable silence.

Rodimus, first to finish his breakfast, was the one to speak up first, but he directed his speech towards Wing as if Deadlock weren’t even there. “So,” he prompted, “would you mind telling me what your ‘errand’ was, that it brought you to the surface?”

Wing nearly choked on his energon, prompting a soft snort from Deadlock, muffled by his own drink. “Beg pardon?”

The prime crossed his arms. “Unless he somehow found his way in,” he gestured loosely at Deadlock, “you had to have found him on the surface. Why were you up there, and why did you take him here?”

“‘Him’ has a name, you know,” Deadlock scoffed irritatedly as he stared into his glass, swirling around the energon in it. He’d never seen anything so pure. 

Before Wing could carefully explain himself, the Decepticon said, “I’m not sure if you know, but there’s this slave-trading hub up top, hidden inside the crater of a mountain. Wing was trying to free them.” He looked up at Rodimus. “That’s probably what he was doing up there when you two crossed paths.” He tilted his head, expression half-curious and half-mocking. “Did you never ask him what he was doing up there if nobody’s supposed to leave this place?”

A bit taken aback, Rodimus swiveled to look at Wing with brows drawn. “I guess I was too grateful and excited and caught up to ask about it,” he said.

“Wing… if you were able to successfully free the slaves, how would you get them off-planet? Would you take them yourself?” His voice caught. “Would you leave me here?”

Shame flashed over Wing’s features. He gripped his glass of energon a bit too tightly. “I… I suppose I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

“What if you weren’t successful? What if you’d gotten caught?” Rodimus’ confusion and hurt morphed into something more akin to anger, although his field betrayed a bit of fear. He stood and began backing away. “You could have been killed, or worse, tortured and enslaved. None of us would know. Everyone would be confused, maybe even scared by your disappearance. And me?” His lower lip wobbled. “I’d be here, worried sick, waiting for you to come home.” His optics filled with tears. Wing began to stand, abandoning his energon to reach out to him. “Oh, Rodimus-”

“Don’t,” Rodimus said, walking into the kitchen and putting his glass of now-cold energon inside the refrigerator. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.” He turned without sparing Wing a glance and went to his room, locking the door behind him.

Deadlock sat sprawled on the couch, watching the exchange with interest, brows raised as he slowly drank his energon.

“Well, that didn’t blow over well,” he rumbled into his glass, causing Wing to jump and look at him as if he’d forgotten Deadlock was in the room. He then settled a glare on the Decepticon, engine rumbling dangerously, and the plating on either side of his helm flared out threateningly.

The speedster had to admit to himself: an angry Wing was kind of hot.

Wing pointed at him. “Come with me.” Deadlock shrugged, putting his empty glass down next to Rodimus’ full one, and stood up with a luxurious stretch. “Nowhere better to be,” he said with a smirk. Wing didn’t grace him with a response, simply turning and heading for the door, Deadlock following in suit.

\--

Wing emitted a dark aura that kept everyone at a distance as he walked along the streets. People looked surprised, even shocked; Wing was almost always smiling, and most had never seen him frown. Deadlock felt a little satisfied with himself.

When they arrived at their destination, Deadlock looked around curiously. It seemed to be some sort of training center. Wing even didn’t bother to acknowledge the mech sitting at the reception desk. Deadlock wiggled his fingers at the mech in a mockery of a wave. “Room for two,” he chirped playfully. The receptionist simply stared after them as Wing led the Decepticon to a private sparring room.

Once the door was closed, Wing headed towards the center of the room, staring at Deadlock, who was more interested in the room. It was very large, golden and gleaming and devoid of any objects or decorations save for the ornate skylight far above their heads. Deadlock directed his attention back to Wing when he heard a clattering noise, which turned out to be Wing’s energy swords being tossed to the floor. He hadn’t realized Wing had been armed all this time, other than the giant sword on his back that all the other knights appeared to have - in a city peaceful as this, why would he feel the need to carry around _three swords?_

Even someone fond of weapons as Deadlock thought it to be a bit overkill.

As Deadlock moved towards him, Wing pointed to the purple insignia on his chest. “What does this stand for?” he demanded. Deadlock frowned. “It’s the symbol of the Decepticons, you know what-”

“What does it _mean?_ ” he interrupted, reaching back to grab for the big sword.

Deadlock took a few steps back, just in case the ruffled flier was thinking about using it on him. “Strength, power, conviction…”

“Superiority?” Deadlock would never admit his relief when Wing tossed the massive sword to the side, atop the smaller two. “So, you’re the best then - the strongest - and because of that you should rule?”

Without a second thought, Deadlock replied firmly. “Yes.”

“Prove it,” Wing demanded. “No guns, no swords. Prove it.”

Deadlock immediately took a swing, surprised at how easily the bulky jet avoided it, and before he could even register it, Wing’s hand collided with his face _hard_ , sending Deadlock skidding back several feet. What the hell…?

“Prove it,” he repeated, hands on his hips.

Oh, now Deadlock was pissed. He could feel the cracks in his faceplates from the impact of the hit, as well as smashing his face on the floor. He grit his teeth as he quickly climbed back up, growling as he took another swing. Wing _caught his fist_.

“Every day, I’m going to give you a chance to prove yourself,” he said. To Deadlock’s surprise, Wing’s knee came up and jabbed him in the abdomen, the sharp flare of it jutting into his plating, and he yowled with pain. He fell to the floor, trying to ignore the pain of his wound, energon flowing freely from it. Primus, what had overcome Wing? He was nuts!

The knight stood over him, casting a shadow over the mech on his hands and knees before him. “If you can prove to me that you’re the best, you can walk out of here. If you can’t…”

“If I can’t?” Deadlock repeated, looking up at him.

Wing looked down his nose at him. “You’re here forever.”

His feral expression softening, he reached a hand out to Deadlock. “C’mon. Let’s get you fixed up.”

\--

After the medic had patched the gash in Deadlock’s abdomen and told him that his self-repair nanites would take care of the fractures in his facial plating - not even questioning Wing, mind you - the two mechs made their way back to Wing’s apartment.

The knight was relieved to find that Rodimus had come back out of his room, and was fixing himself lunch, the empty glasses cleared off the sofa table. The prime looked up at the two through the square gap in the kitchen wall, and gasped when he saw Deadlock’s patch job and cracked faceplates. He hurried around the corner of it, and had to stop himself from reaching out to touch Deadlock. “Wh… What happened?!” he demanded, looking between the two white mechs.

“Just a little friendly sparring,” Deadlock grunted, putting a hand over his patched wound, biting back a grimace.

Rodimus looked up at Wing, who bore not even a scratch. “What the hell did you do to him?!” he demanded. “Wipe the floor with him?!”

“Pretty much,” Deadlock grumbled as he carefully lied down on the couch. Rodimus followed him and knelt down beside him, leaving Wing standing near the door, bewildered. The prime’s hands hovered over Deadlock’s battered frame, almost trembling. “Are you okay?” he asked fretfully. Deadlock wanted to laugh, but instead he mumbled, “M’fine. A little gash isn’t gonna kill me. I was in a lot worse shape when Wing dragged my ass here.”

Rodimus looked up at Wing in confusion. “Is that true?”

Wing sighed and walked over to sit beside Rodimus on the floor. “When I saw Drift, I tried to recruit him to help me release the slaves. He wanted a ship to get off-planet, so I asked him to help me release the slaves and for him to take them with him. Of course, he had other plans.

“Instead of helping me out, he ran straight towards the nearest ship, and by the time I saw where he’d gone, one of the slavers was already smashing him into the ground. Decepticon or not, I couldn’t just leave him to die.” Wing reached up and placed a hand on the warrior’s arm. “So I brought him here, just like I brought you.” He looked up at Rodimus with a wry smile. “He was in a hell of a lot worse shape than you.”

Rodimus managed a smile in return, and then looked back down at Deadlock, who bore a grumpy expression. “Yeah, they rebuilt pretty much my entire upper half, a good deal of my helm, and replaced my optics.” He tapped his temple. “Plenty of mechs around here with red optics, dunno why they gave me blue…” Deadlock shot a glare at Wing, who just shrugged. “It wasn’t my decision. Your optics were mostly shattered so the medic, Redline, couldn’t really tell what color they were before. Blue was what they had the most of on-hand, therefore that’s what Redline grabbed. I was more concerned about him being able to save your life than what color your optics were going to be.”

Deadlock grunted, not sure what to say in response to that. Rodimus spoke up with a soft smile. “I’ve never seen you with blue optics before.” He turned to Wing and said, “When we were younger, his optics were a lovely gold.” He looked back to Deadlock, tilting his head slightly to the side. “But I think the blue is a good look for you.”

The fearsome warrior pouted. “Better than no optics, I guess,” he mumbled. Wing and Rodimus shared a snicker.

Rodimus then climbed to his feet and walked towards the kitchen. “You guys hungry? I know I am.” He glanced at his neglected glass of energon longingly. “Want some lunch?”

“Yes, please,” Wing called out. Deadlock just shrugged, curling in on himself.

The knight rolled his eyes. “Come on, Deadlock. Eat.”

“Not hungry.”

Rodimus came back from the kitchen with a glass of chilled energon for two mechs. “Bullslag,” he said with a smirk. “You’re probably hungry and look like you’re in need of a nap.”

“Not hungry,” Deadlock repeated, words muffled by the couch cushion he had his face buried into.

Wing looked up at Rodimus conspiratorially as he took the two glasses, setting them down on the table. “Hey, Rodimus,” he drawled, “I think Drift would be less grumpy if he got some comfortable rest.”

“Hmm, I agree,” Rodimus responded with a grin, understanding Wing’s ploy.

Deadlock _squeaked_ as the deceptively strong knight hefted him into his arms. “Hey!”

Rodimus giggled and watched the Decepticon squirm in Wing’s arms as the jet carried him into the guest room, depositing him on the bed. “If you’re not going to eat,” he said sternly, “you’re going to nap.”

As much as he wanted to continue his protest, he had to admit, the berth was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the couch. He let out a small sigh of satisfaction and closed his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled.

Wing smiled and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him, and using his free hand to give Rodimus a thumbs up, who returned the gesture with both hands.

In the dark privacy of the bedroom, Deadlock let the tension seep out of his body, sinking into the bed and pressed his face against the pillow, taking a deep breath.

His vents stalled. The sheets smelled distinctly of Rodimus.

Of course, it was different - he doesn’t smell of rust and oil like he did back on the streets, and there was the crisp scent of the organic material of the sheets and the solvent they were washed in, but the core scent was still clearly Rod’s - spice and ashes. 

Deadlock cursed to himself. Couldn’t even enjoy his privacy without Rodimus haunting him. How was it so easy for that mech to worm his way back under his plating?

He’d have the sheets washed tomorrow; he spent the night on the floor.

\--

With Deadlock closed in the guest room, Rodimus and Wing sat down on the couch together to enjoy their energon. “So, uh,” Rodimus started with a slow sip, “Am I stuck with the couch now?”

Wing bit his lip. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Then, an idea that made him blush flitted across his mind.

“Um… you don’t have to. I mean, my berth is-”

“Wing, I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch,” Rodimus frowned.

Not meeting his gaze, the knight looked at the wall. “No, I meant… my berth is plenty big, so I could spread my wings if I wanted to. Since there’s plenty of room, I thought that maybe, um, you’d be open to sleeping there… with me.”

Rodimus sat up straight, his spoiler going rigid as a blush crept across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. “Oh.”

Wing finally looked up, visibly flushed, and held his hands out in front of him. “Not if you don’t want to!” he said quickly. “I just figured, um, we’re pretty close now, yeah? I mean, I feel comfortable with you. And if you’re comfortable with me, not assuming you are-”

“Wing,” Rodimus said, cutting off the babbling night with a small smile. “That sounds great. On one condition,” he continued, tone becoming firm, and pointed a finger at the knight. “No more sneaking out.”

“But-”

“ _No. More._

Wing sighed. “Okay, okay. No more.”

“Promise?”

The prime’s words sounded almost like a plea, the worry in his field genuine. Wing drew him into his arms. “I promise,” he said.

Rodimus smiled and hugged him back. “Good.”

Hearing the muffled conversation on the other side of the wall, Deadlock lie in bed frowning. They were going to be sleeping _together?_ As in, the same bed?

Deadlock flashed back to a night when he and the other speedster were young, hidden away in their little shed, curled up together, frames pressed as tightly against to one another’s as possible.

It was then that he fully realized that the closeness between Rodimus and Wing made him… jealous. Why should he be jealous? Rodimus wasn’t his. And yet, as time went on, the part of his spark that he’d given to Rodimus millenia ago throbbed.

Deadlock flipped over on the floor, shutting his eyes tightly. Rodimus wasn’t his.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Now there you go again_  
>  _You say you want your freedom_  
>  _Well who am I to keep you down?_  
>  _It’s only right that you should play it the way you feel it_  
>  _But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness_  
>  _In the stillness of remembering what you had_  
>  _And what you lost_  
>  (Bastille ft. Gabrielle Aplin, “Dreams”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadlock finally opens up a little.

When Deadlock woke the next day, it was early. He quietly left his room, and seeing the door to the other bedroom closed, Wing and Rodimus were likely still asleep. Outside, the artificial light of the city was just starting to brighten. He took a moment to open the sliding glass door and step out onto the balcony. Without any peering eyes to stare and judge, he looked out over the city, its gold and cobalt towers glimmering in the twilight. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity as he watched the city slowly wake, everything and everyone filled with peace and light. It really was what he had always dreamed of...

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Wing’s soft voice made Deadlock jump, whirling around. His field flared with embarrassment, but Wing just laughed, his chuckle a light, melodious thing. He stepped out to stand next to Deadlock and gazed out over the city.

The Decepticon became less tense the longer Wing went without saying anything. Leaning out over the balcony, high above the ground, and watching a splendid city waking up in the first vestiges of light, Deadlock felt a kind of peace wash over him that he hadn’t felt since the last time he’d been wrapped up in a warm embrace.

“What were you and Rodimus like before the war?” Wing asked quietly, continuing to look out over the city.

Deadlock startled a bit. “What do you mean?”

Wing gave a little shrug. “You two knew each other when you were young, and from what I’ve gleaned, you’d met before the war. You were close.” He spared a glance at Deadlock from the corner of his eye. “Very close.”

The con huffed and crossed his arms over the balcony railing. “What of it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Wing replied innocently, directing his attention back outwards. “I simply want to know what you two were like. What your lives were like.”

The warrior frowned and looked down at his hands. “It wasn’t nice,” he admitted quietly, as if telling a secret. “We were both street rats. Unfortunate events led us to one another, but the result was far from unfortunate.” His frown softened into something almost wistful. “We... took care of each other for a while. Living on the streets was hard. He’d steal, I rented my frame out to Relinquishment Clinics.” Deadlock shuddered at the memory. “We were always hungry and dirty and hopeless, but it wasn’t so bad as long as we were together.”

A shadow seemed to cast over Deadlock’s face. “I didn’t become a Decepticon to conquer,” he whispered. “I was alone, discarded. So was he, and so many others. No one cared if we lived or died.” He took a deep breath. “I had a friend named Gasket. He was annoyingly optimistic… kind of like you and Rodimus.” Deadlock smirked a little. “He banded us together, gave us hope and kept us alive.” His face hardened once again. “Law enforcement killed him when he tried to defend someone. He was unarmed.”

Wing put a hand on Deadlock’s shoulder in a small gesture of comfort, and his spark warmed when the warrior didn’t shrug it off. “I killed all three of the enforcers,” he admitted, face drawn tight. “I couldn’t control myself. It was pure instinct. Pure aggression.

“Not long after that, I met Hot Rod. He saved my life. We stuck together until I became a Decepticon. It wasn’t for him, so he went back to Nyon.” Deadlock heaved a sigh. “He promised he’d come back, but he didn’t.” The bitter heat rose back up, claiming the Decepticon once again. He gripped the railing tight. “We never spoke again after he left. Not until now.”

He turned away from the view of the city, sitting on the ledge of the balcony. “He made his choice, and I made mine, and that’s the end of it.”

“Drift,” Wing said softly, studying his face from the side. “Look around you. Here, you can have everything you ever wanted. Somewhere safe and comfortable to live, unlimited access to energon, the ability to remain clean and healthy. Never having to worry about being impoverished or cast aside, forgotten. Here, everyone has a role. Everyone is important in their own way.”

Deadlock huffed and pushed himself off the railing, walking inside. Wing followed after him. “Equality and peace all around you,” he said. “This city holds everything you ever wanted.”

Deadlock turned on his heel, his fierce blue optics boring into Wing’s own golden ones. “I didn’t fight for this,” he growled. “Outside, the war rages on. Lives are being lost on both sides. Do you really expect me to stay here and let that go on? Just forget about it, and live a happy little life here?” To his credit, Wing actually looked a little guilty.

“It would be nice.” Both of them jumped when Rodimus’ sleepy voice spoke up.

The prime stood in the doorway to the balcony, rubbing at an optic with one hand, a blanket draped over his shoulders. “Please stay, Deadlock. You’ll be happy here. I know I am.”

Despite the pure honesty of Rodimus’ words, anger rose to the surface and Deadlock’s fingers curled into fists. _Stay willingly, you mean,_ Deadlock thought to himself. Rodimus walked towards him, stopping just short of touching his frame. He looked up at the Decepticon earnestly. “You’ve made it clear that you’re a different person now, but I still know that somewhere deep down, you’re still the mech I knew. And I want you to stay here, because I know you could find peace here, and because…” Rodimus took a deep breath and finally said the words. “I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

Deadlock looked away and scoffed, lips curling into a scowl. “Need me? Yeah, right.” He crossed his arms petulantly. “You told me that, and that you’d come back and you didn’t, didn’t even come _looking_ for me. Not after the war began, not during it. And then you came here and picked up this guy!” He flung an arm out towards Wing, who immediately looked like he’d been slapped across the face. “Seems like you don’t need me _that_ much.”

Rodimus’ spark sunk at hearing those words. They were cold and bitter, but he could sense the hurt in them. “Deadlock-”

“Enough!” Deadlock’s helm whipped back around, red optics blazing. “I was there, you know. When you and the other Autobots were captured after what happened in Nyon. You want to know why I didn't approach you then?” Rodimus optics widened, and opened his mouth to answer, but before he could do so, Deadlock snapped, “Because you wanted _Drift_ back, and Drift was already gone.”

He gritted his teeth, fangs showing to cement his point, while Rodimus’ over-bright optics sparked with distress. 

“Drift died the moment you left.”

Rodimus clapped both hands over his mouth, coolant pooling in his optics. Wing looked absolutely scandalized, placing a hand over his spark, and in any other situation Deadlock would’ve laughed at their dramatic expressions.

A strained noise came from Rodimus’ vocalizer, his spoiler halves drooped so low they were nearly at a 45º angle towards the floor. His spark absolutely crushed, he turned on his heel and tossed the blanket onto the couch as ran out the front door, slamming it closed behind him.

The shock gone from his faceplates, Wing shot Deadlock a look that could’ve melted titanium before following Rodimus out - screw having to keep an eye on the Decepticon. Let him run away, get caught by the slavers for all he cared! NO ONE would treat Rodimus like that; not on his watch. Damn the consequences.

Running didn’t even cross Deadlock’s mind. He slid down against the wall and ran a scarred, dark hand over his face. His head swam, his spark flickering with doubt. He wanted to tear it out of his chassis and throw it off the balcony.

Why had he opened up to Wing in the first place? This city was making him go soft. He couldn’t afford to lose his edge. But surrounded by all this beauty, being so close to Rodimus again… it was hard to stay firm.

The Decepticon warrior buried his face in his arms to keep the universe from watching as he shed a single tear.

_What are you doing to me, Rod?_


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm not here to judge what I think love is for_  
>  _I've made mistakes before_  
>  _You said, "I'm not perfect_  
>  _I think I'm quite the opposite_  
>  _I'm nothing to adore"_  
>  _I said perfection is opinion and nothing more_  
>  (Flatsound, “Losing The Interest and Trust I Had In You”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, guys... it's what you've all waited for... read through 26 chapters to get to... THE PORN
> 
> It's not plotless, but at least 75% of this chapter is fluffy schmoopy lovemaking so enjoy

Rodimus was _fast_ , and despite leaving not long after him, it had still taken some time and some asking around until Wing had found Rodimus sitting in the crystal garden he’d promised they’d visit sometime. He hadn’t expected it to be under such circumstances.

The younger mech was perched on a bench, seeming to be watching the fountain bubble and froth, but his optics were glazed over as if his mind was a million miles away.

Sighing softly, Wing walked down the cobbled path to the bench where Rodimus sat. “May I sit?”

Without looking up at him, Rodimus blinked and shrugged a little. Wing sat down beside him and stared ahead at the fountain as well. “I’m sorry.”

That garnered Rodimus’ attention. “What?” he asked, turning to the jet. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

It was Wing’s turn to avert his gaze. “I brought him here,” he replied with no small amount of guilt, twiddling his fingers nervously. “You wouldn’t be suffering if I hadn’t taken him in.”

Rodimus’ field filled with a different kind of sadness. “Wing, you did what you had to do. You saw a mech in need, and helped him out. Without your intervention, he would’ve died.”

“I suppose you’re right… All the same, the last thing I could’ve imagined is that he would be someone from your past that hurt you so.” Rodimus scooted closer and rested his head on the white mech’s shoulder, placing his hand on Wing’s upper arm. Wing placed a hand on the center his spoiler and rubbed it gently to comfort him.

“You didn’t hurt me. _He_ did. His actions do not reflect on you. Nothing he does or says has anything to do with you, okay?” Wing finally turned to look Rodimus in the eye and nodded. The hot rod smiled a little and stood, reaching out a hand. “Let’s go home,” he said softly.

Wing smiled in return and took the golden hand in his own. “Okay.”

\--

When they got back to the apartment, Wing was relieved to find that Drift was still there: he’d just locked himself in his room (when Wing had knocked on his closed door, there was a muffled reply of “go away”). Rodimus crawled into their berth and Wing said he was going to hop in the shower.

Although Rodimus had seemed to have been feeling better before, when Wing came out of the washroom after cleaning up, he found the smaller mech with his back turned to him, head in his hands and spoiler halves drooping so low they nearly touched the sheets. “Rodimus...?” he said cautiously, climbing up onto the other side of the bed. “Are you alright?”

Rodimus half-turned to show a twisted expression, cheeks streaked with tears. Wing’s spark broke, his field projecting sadness, sympathy, and comfort. He opened his arms welcomingly, and Rodimus didn’t hesitate to fling himself at the flier, clutching tightly at the sharp edges of Wing’s plating, his own smooth curves sliding perfectly into the spaces between.

Wing held him close, pulling the speedster into his lap, and rested his chin atop the other’s helm. He stroked soothing lines down Rodimus’ spinal strut, and tried not to smile when the spoiler would twitch when his hand brushed over the center of it. It was cute.

“Oh, Rodimus,” he sighed softly, pressing a kiss atop the other’s head, the red mech’s face tucked against Wing’s neck. The smaller mech trembled with soft sobs. “I should have gone back for him,” the prime said in a soft, tremulous voice. 

“What do you mean, brightspark?”

Rodimus flushed a bit at the nickname, but he wasn’t calmed by the words nor by Wing’s soothing EM field. “Deadlock and I… well, it’s kind of a long-ish story, but we both grew up on the streets. Me in Nyon, and him in Rodion.” Wing nodded, remembering Deadlock mentioning such, and encouraging him along. “I was running from the authorities and ended up in Rodion’s Dead End, and found Deadlock - well, Drift then - overdosing on circuit boosters. I saved him, and found a little place to keep the two of us hidden away. We were fast friends, and kind of took care of each other for a while, until I heard things were getting really bad back in Nyon. By that time, he’d already joined the Decepticons and become Deadlock. He was… changing. I figured my people needed me more than he did, so I left. It was hard, but… I did it. I went home.

“I stayed in Nyon to help, but in the end… it was useless. It was destroyed anyway. And it was all my fault.” His voice cracked, and he gripped Wing’s plating hard enough to leave small dents. “Maybe it would’ve been better if I’d never gone back at all.”

Confused, Wing pursed his lips but continued his gentle petting of the speedster’s backside. He remembered how Rodimus had told him that he was ‘the reason Nyon burned’. He winced as a louder sob erupted from Rodimus’ vocalizer. “I blew up my city!” he all but shouted, the commotion stirring Deadlock out of recharge on the other side of the apartment.

_What the hell…?_

“Rodimus… I told you, you don’t have to talk about this…” Rodimus just shook his head, desperately trying to swallow his sobs to speak clearly. “Things were going from b-bad to w-worse… Zeta P-Prime was draining people of their energ-gon… I’d set up phase charges all around the c-city… Zeta was g-gonna h-harvest everybody’s lives to power his Omega Destructors… c-couldn’t let him do that… couldn’t get everybody out in t-time…” His lips trembled, tears flooding down his cheeks as he closed his eyes tightly, the image of his home going up in flames burned into his mind. “I’m the one that detonated the bombs.”

Wing gasped. Outside the door, Deadlock frowned. He’d known who’d done it, but hearing Rodimus say it made it feel so much more real. It was a sobering reminder that he wasn’t the only one here responsible for the deaths of millions.

Rodimus jolted when Wing pulled him close into a crushing embrace. “Oh, Rodimus,” he breathed against the hot rod’s audial, his wobbly voice laden with sorrow. “Dear, sweet Roddy.” His field wrapped the smaller mech in a blanket of comfort/sympathy. “That’s… I can’t even imagine your pain. This is…” He pulled back slightly to look Rodimus in the optics, his own sparking with distress, as if he were about to cry. “I am so sorry for all that has happened to you. You’ve been through so much, more than I could’ve even imagined. I wish I could’ve… I don’t know. Protected you from all this, somehow.” He shook his head mournfully. “I wish there was something I could’ve done. Been there at your side through it to support you, even as unrealistic such a desire is.”

Rodimus leaned heavily against Wing, who felt more than heard small sniffle against his neck cables, and shivered a little as he felt Rodimus’ lips move against them when he spoke. “That’s nice of you to say,” he whispered, voice a bit strained, “but you don’t have to go back to make things better.” He sat back up slowly, and cupped a surprised Wing’s cheeks in his hands. He smiled tentatively. “You’re here now. I’ve been through much more since then - betrayals, near-death experiences - and I’ve grown stronger. It just all catches up with me sometimes. And here, in this beautiful city, it makes me think about how Nyon had been, before Zeta got his hands on it.” He paused. “And even though I can do more than defend myself, just knowing that you would bend time and space to be there for me is more than enough.”

Much to his surprise, Wing found himself taking the slightly smaller hands in his own and leaned in to gently press his lips to Rodimus’, eyes fluttering shut..

When Wing leaned back, he gazed deeply into Rodimus’ optics. “Rodimus, you know you can stay here for as long as you want. You don’t have to go back to all that’s hurt you. You’ve suffered more than enough.”

Deadlock’s lip curled in disgust. The war was _important._ How _dare_ he try to talk Rodimus out of returning? They’d just fought about that!

His snarl morphed into a twisted pout when he remembered that he and Rodimus were on opposite sides. Whichever of them won, the other would lose - and not just the war, but possibly their life. The very thought of the beautiful prime laying at his feet, frame dull and gray, made his tanks churn.

The only response Wing was given was Rodimus grabbing him by the audial flares and dragging him into a proper kiss, eliciting a muffled chuckle from Wing, and then a moan from his sensitive sensor panels being roughly handled. “Oh, my Prime…” He murmured against Rodimus’ lips, trailing his fingertips over the edges of his spoiler, knowing that it was just as sensitive as his wings. Rodimus let out a gorgeous moan, and Wing gently pulled him down with him as he laid back into the plush cradle of their pillows.

Outside, Deadlock’s frown deepened into a scowl. Was that moaning he heard…? 

He battled with himself on whether or not he should take a peek. _It’s really none of my business,_ he tried to reason with himself. _But then again…_

Deadlock pushed the door open very slightly, just enough to see through, and clapped a hand over his mouth before he could make any sort of noise. Wing and Rodimus were tangled up in each other’s arms, the knight pressing Rodimus into the berth with his own body and kissing him soundly. After a minute or so, he began kissing a line down Rodimus’ divine scarlet body, giving extra attention to kissing around and on top of the Matrix, the prime’s golden spoiler beating against the soft surface of the bed…

When Wing settled between Rodimus’ thighs, a hand on each, and pressed a kiss to the prime’s interface panel, Deadlock spun around and made a mad dash for his bedroom, closing and locking his door before he let his cooling fans switch on, already powered at full blast. He couldn’t bear to watch a moment more.

Rodimus gasped when the knight’s lips pressed against his covered array. “Wing,” he breathed heavily, reaching down to brush his fingers over the white mech’s helm flares. They fluttered adorably at the contact.

“Is this okay?” Wing asked softly, optics warm and EM field practically glowing with affection. He rested his head on Rodimus thigh as he waited for Rodimus to catch his breath. The prime nodded emphatically, his cooling fans kicking up another notch and EM field rolling with affection and desire. He reached down to trace a finger over one of the jet’s audial flares.

“Yes,” he panted over the gentle rumbling of his engine and soft whirring of Wing’s. “Primus, yes.”

The knight’s smile grew. He pressed another kiss to Rodimus’ panel, the cover promptly snapping back to reveal his spike and valve. Wing reached out to brush his dark fingertips over the curve of the other mech’s scarlet spike, its biolights pulsing brightly. With a gasp, Rodimus twitched, eliciting a chuckle from the jet. His hand continued to make its way down, trailing over the plush golden lips of Rodimus’ valve.

“W-Wing!”

The knight’s smile morphed into something more coy. “Yes?”

Rodimus clenched his teeth. “Please…” he whimpered.

“Please what?”

He let out a frustrated groan. “Please… touch me…”

The flier gently traced the lips of Rodimus’ valve before moving up to gently play with the prime’s outer node. Wing replied cheekily, “I _am_ touching you.”

Rodimus bit his lip and let out a desperate whine, optics sliding shut. Wing decided to take mercy on him, and slowly inserted a finger into the speedster’s valve. He gasped sharply, valve clenching around the slender digit as it was slowly pulled out and pushed back in again, each time a little deeper than the last. When there was an adequate amount of lubricant built up in Rodimus’ valve, Wing added another finger, continuing the slow pace but pushing in deeper. The prime moaned, reaching down to catch Wing by an audial flare and tugged him up for a kiss.

As they kissed one another deeply, fields intertwined and rich with arousal/affection/want, Rodimus began to rock his hips slowly, meeting Wing’s thrusts. The flier scissored his fingers deep inside the other’s valve, Rodimus keeing against Wing’s mouth at the stretch. The speedster reached up to caress Wing’s flightpanels.

Wing pulled back slightly with a gasp. “Okay?” He breathed, fingers stilling. Rodimus was beyond words, so he just nodded fiercely.

The knight snickered as he pulled Rodimus back in for another kiss. He was so cute, even overcome by pleasure. Wing slid a third finger into the slick valve, biting back a moan as he did so. His spike pressed against his panel painfully, begging for release. He pushed his fingers as far up into Rodimus’ valve as he could, causing the mech beneath him to cry out his name. “Wing…!”

“Mm, Rodimus,” he breathed in response, their lips still touching. “I want… I want to make love to you. With you.” He used his free hand to brush down the side of the prime’s face. “Will you let me?”

Rodimus whimpered, cracking his optics open to look up at the beautiful knight. “Please,” he gasped, voice thick with want. Just the way the other mech had worded his desire sent his own skyrocketing. Wing nodded, and pulled his fingers from Rodimus’ valve slowly before finally snapping back his own panel, letting out a sigh of relief.

When Wing released his spike, Rodimus’ face grew hot. It was… nice. Thicker than average, white with classy red stripes and small ridges. It throbbed, desperate for attention. “Are you ready?” he whispered, resting his hands upon the hot rod’s slender hips. Chewing his lip, Rodimus nodded eagerly and brushed his fingers over Wing’s helm flares. “Yes.”

The crimson mech gasped as Wing slid his spike through the lips of his valve, slicking it with lubricant before positioning the head of his spike at its entrance. With a smile, Wing slowly pushed into Rodimus, reaching up to cup the speedster’s face and pull him into a slow, scaldingly hot kiss. 

Both of them moaned unabashedly into each other’s mouths, completely forgetting the fact that there was another person living inside the apartment. From his room, Deadlock couldn’t help but listen. Even though he was on the other side of the flat, far from EM detection, Deadlock kept his field reigned in tightly as it swam with arousal and jealousy.

“Hng… Rodimus,” Wing gasped, feeling the hot rod’s valve ripple over his spike, trying to coax it deeper.

Rodimus’ wrapped his legs around Wing’s waist as the white knight began to slowly pump his spike in and out, a little bit deeper each time, slowly stretching the prime’s clenching valve and help it acclimate to his size. The small ridges on the spike rubbed the inner walls of Rodimus’ valve just right, leaving the speedster moaning. As Wing’s thrusts gained momentum and he pulled the smaller mech against him by the hips with each thrust, all Rodimus could do was chant the flier’s name.

“Wing, oh Wing, that’s - that’s it, ohhh… Wiiiiiing…”

The knight jerked forward and pulled Rodimus’ hips down, hilting himself completely inside of his slick valve, and the prime let out a sharp whine, his small valve cycling down to clutch at Wing’s hard, straining spike. “Ngh… Roddy…”

“Mmm… please, harder… WING!”

Oh, how happy he was to oblige his smaller lover, bucking his hips as he pulled Rodimus’ into his thrust and buried himself deep. He slid his hands over the golden planes of the prime’s spoiler, eliciting a frame-deep shudder. When Rodimus screamed Wing’s name as he tipped into overload, that was it - Deadlock turned his audials off and flipped over, burying his face against his pillow, stewing in a disgusting mix of fury and arousal. It wasn’t fair… how come Wing got to have him like that?! Rodimus was HIS!

No, he reminded himself. He wasn’t.

Wing sighed and held Rodimus close, stroking the flares of his helm. Their fields pulsed as one, both full of bliss and affection. “He’s really missing out, you know,” the knight murmured into the other’s audial, easing his spike out of the smaller mech and grabbing the blanket shoved to the bottom corner of the berth.. “You are exquisite. So curious, so eager to learn, so charismatic, so beautiful, so easy to love…”

Rodimus’ optics flew open wide and his head jerked back to stare up into the warm golden gaze of the other, who bore a light blush on his cheeks. “Y-You… do you…?” he stammered, finding it difficult to get the words out.

Wing let out an airy laugh that sounded almost like chimes tinkling in the wind. “Yes, Rodimus. I… seem to have fallen for you. I know that your spark belongs to Drift, but unfortunately, one does not choose who they fall in love with.” An expression akin to shame flickered across his flushed faceplates as he looked away. “I understand that this may make things… awkward between us. I hope it will not, but if you want it to be so, we can pretend this never happened.”

When Rodimus remained silent, Wing turned back to look at him, his expression further deepening with distress, but his features softened slightly when the smaller mech cupped his cheek and drew him into a chaste kiss. The knight let out a small sigh of relief against Rodimus’ lips, their faces lingering close together even after their lips parted.

“I gave my spark to him long, long ago, and promised myself to never love anyone but him,” he murmured softly. He felt the hope in Wing’s field wilt, so he was quick to continue. “However, my spark has grown since then, and perhaps I have some to give to another.” Rodimus smiled sheepishly and took one of Wing’s hands in his own.

Wing beamed so brightly that the light of his smile could rival a sun. “Do you mean it?”

Rodimus nodded and traced the vents on the white mech’s chest, earning him a slight shudder. “I do,” he whispered. “And I want to stay here, not just in this city… but with you.” Before Wing could utter another word, the flame-colored mech pressed his lips to the knight’s in an affirming kiss that left no doubt that his words were true.

Rodimus suddenly pulled back. “Hey. You… you didn’t overload, did you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Wing shook his head. “I don’t need to,” he said, even as he’d been trying to conceal his painfully hard spike beneath the covers.

“Oh no,” Rodimus insisted. “That won’t do.” He pulled the covers off, Wing gasping lightly at the sensation of the fabric moving over the sensitive head of his spike. Rodimus’ hands wandered down to caress Wing’s thighs. He gently pushed Wing off of him and moved to straddle the knight’s knees. He began kissing Wing’s thighs, eliciting a whimper. “R-Rodimus… I think we’ve had enough f-foreplay, don’t you think?”

“No such thing,” Rodimus scoffed with a grin. All the same, he moved Wing’s legs to rest over his shoulders, and then leaned forward to kiss up the length of the thick, firm spike before him. Once he reached the tip, he put his hands on the area of Wing’s panel around his spike, pressing his pelvis down to prevent the jet from bucking up, and dug the tip of his tongue into the spike’s slit, tasting a mixture of Wing’s transfluid and his own.

The knight shrieked, and Rodimus chuckled, and then sucked on just the very top of the spike’s head, still pressing his tongue against the slit, swirling it around.

“R-Roddy! P-Primus!” Wing tried to move his hips up and get more of himself into Rodimus’ mouth, but the prime was having none of that, and simply pressed down harder. He then moved off of Wing’s spike, the white mech crying out in desperation, but it wasn’t long until Rodimus had his mouth back on it, licking the underside from base to the rim of the head, and trailed his tongue around its circumference. An endless litany of “please”s escaped Wing’s lips.

“Please, please, oh…. Roddy, please!” Rodimus’ spark pulsed warmly, and through the haze of arousal, he felt Wing’s field mesh with his own, their desire feeding back on one another’s. Wing moaned as he gently thrusted into Rodimus’ mouth as his partner sucked his hard spike while rubbing his thick thighs. He moaned around Wing’s spike and pushed the tip of his tongue into its slit again, wriggling his tongue in the dip of the head, making Wing scream. When he gave a particularly hard suck, Wing bucked his hips and poured hot transfluid down Rodimus’ throat, the speedster eagerly drinking it up, moaning around the other’s spike.

When he pulled off Wing’s spike with a “pop”, Rodimus looked up at Wing, optics soft and dazed. He chuckled a little at his partner’s blissed-out expression. The jet lifted his arms and made grabby hands at Rodimus, and the prime smiled, licking the lubricant off his lips before flopping down on top of Wing, notching himself between the knight’s chassis and arm, maneuvering his head to rest on his chest rather than have a face full of Wing’s shoulder turbine.

“We’re gonna wake up all gross and sticky, you know,” Rodimus commented, without making any effort to move.

“Mmph,” Wing replied, his eyes already closed. Rodimus chuckled and nuzzled his face into the crook of Wing’s neck, powering down his own optics and giving the white mech’s neck cables a soft kiss. “Goodnight, my knight,” he whispered.

Nearly asleep, a smile tugged at Wing’s lips as he murmured, “Sweet dreams, my Prime.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lay your body down,_  
>  _Just as reckless as you are,_  
>  _And give yourself to me,_  
>  _I need a little loving inside of me now._  
>  _So open up your soul,_  
>  _And take me as I am,_  
>  _And love me for your own tonight,_  
>  _Show me who I am._  
>  _So don’t fight what you’re feeling,_  
>  _Just give up on leading yourself_  
>  _Right up to the edge;_  
>  _You’ll find that it’s easy_  
>  _To open your heart up instead._  
>  (Fabrizio Paterlini and March Rosetta, “Forever Blue”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up for some big sappy smoochy shit

Rodimus was disappointed that Wing was not in the bed when he woke. The prime stretched luxuriously on the large berth, full of soft, fluffy pillows, before getting up to hop in the shower.

Fresh and sparkly-clean, Rodimus headed out into the main living area and looked around. Everything was open-format so he could see that Wing was not in the living room, nor in the kitchen. He then noticed a note on the door, and walked over to read it. 

_I have been summoned by Dai Atlas for an urgent meeting. I should be back before lunch._

_You two behave yourselves while I’m gone._

_\- Wing_

Rodimus chuckled to himself and pulled the note off the door. Wing could be so cheeky. It was one of the things Rodimus liked about him. All the same, it was a valid statement.

He walked into the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. He filled a kettle with energon and set it on the stove, and then opened up one of the white cabinets to fetch a glass. When the scarlet mech turned around, he nearly dropped it.

“Deadlock!” he gasped, putting a free hand on his chest, over the Matrix. “You nearly gave me a spark attack!” He’d forgotten just how stealthy the Decepticon could be. Deadlock didn’t respond; he simply stared into Rodimus’ surprised optics, which quickly turned confused and a bit uncomfortable. In such close proximity, the prime noticed signs of exhaustion on the other mech’s face, as if he hadn’t slept hardly at all last night -

Uh oh.

Rodimus shrank back a little, bracing the counter with one hand as Deadlock advanced on him. He planted his hands down on the counter with a sharp _clack_ of claws connecting with polished granite, trapping Rodimus between his arms. He leaned in close, barely a breath away. Rodimus pursed his lips together, field flaring with anxiety as much as he tried to push it down.

Unlike normal, Deadlock left his field unrestrained, and Rodimus felt like he was going to choke on the feelings of anger and jealousy surrounding slithering over him.

“Have fun last night?” Deadlock spat.

The smaller speedster wanted to tremble, but instead took a deep breath and steeled himself. “What’s it to you?”

Deadlock’s optics narrowed, jaw clenching. Of course, Rodimus posed the question he didn’t want to answer even to himself. He leaned back a little, at least out of the hot rod’s face. “Nothing,” he hissed through his teeth. “Just kept me up all night s’all. What you two do is your business.” He looked away and moved his arms, leaning back to release Rodimus. He was acting like he cared what Rodimus did, and he couldn’t leave himself open like that.

“Deadlock,” Rodimus murmured, attitude softening, and, moved forward to rest a hand over Deadlock’s Decepticon badge. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t care about what I do and don’t do. Tell me that you don’t care about me.” The Decepticon floundered, unused to anyone standing up to him, giving _him_ orders. Even though he was a bit taller than Rodimus, the prime’s position and expression made him feel small. Weak.

He didn’t like it, but Rodimus had seen him vulnerable before. He’d sworn he’d never be like that again, but under the heat of the flame-colored mech’s burning gaze, Deadlock’s will was crumbling to ash.

Deadlock averted his gaze for a moment before flicking back to Rodimus. He gritted out, “I don’t care about you.” As he said the words, his EMF told the exact opposite. Despite his best efforts, Deadlock’s field reached for Rodimus’, longing to mingle with it once again. The envy and fury were quickly being smothered by desperation and poorly-concealed pining.

Rodimus’ face softened. He placed his free hand on Deadlock’s cheek, which was hot with embarrassment. The con flinched at first, but then let out a small, almost inaudible sigh and allowed it to happen, but didn’t lean into it. His optics lidden as the other speedster stroked his cheek with his thumb.

“Do you love him?”

Caught off-guard, Rodimus’ stilled, and his hand froze. “What?”

“Wing. Do you love him?” Deadlock repeated, his blue gaze tired - almost sad - and lacked its normal heat.

The prime drew his hands back and looked away. He felt caught out. “I…”

“It’s okay if you do,” Deadlock said. He cleared his throat and straightened, trying to reestablish his aloof front but failing. “It’s none of my business.”

Rodimus looked back up at him with a small teasing smile. “If it’s none of your business, why ask?”

Deadlock wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Rodimus chuckled ruefully.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” he admitted thoughtfully. “I like him a lot. We have a lot in common, he makes me feel safe, and happy.” He fixed his gaze on Deadlock, who had taken to staring at the floor.

“But he’s not you.”

Deadlock’s head snapped up so fast it was surprising he didn’t pop a neck strut. His optics were wide and disbelieving. “What… what do you mean?”

Rodimus leaned forward again, his gaze soft. His spoiler flicked behind him. “I’ve fallen for other people, Deadlock,” he confessed, placing his hands on Deadlock’s shoulders. “But no one can replace you.”

The Decepticon’s breath hitched. He reached up to place his hands over Rodimus’, his limbs moving of their own accord. “Why do you even still care about me,” Deadlock asked, brows coming together. “When I had the chance to approach you, I didn’t. For nearly four million years, I _actively_ tried to avoid you. When Wing dragged me here and I saw you again, I treated you like dirt, and have every day since, and kept pushing you away.” He gently squeezed Rodimus’ hands, his frown taking on more of a guilty, almost sorrowful edge. The way his mouth moved, unsure of what he wanted to say, made clear that he was struggling to form words, so he let his field soften a bit to be more easily read. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves before continuing.

“Even during the war, I knew that if I came face-to-face with you, you’d break me, one way or another. You’d either hate me and make me angry and miserable, or still want to be with me, in which case I’d feel guilty and confused. I couldn’t deal with either of those things. Certainly not in the middle of a war.” Deadlock chewed his lip, casting his gaze down, staring at the Matrix in Rodimus’ chest, glinting in the morning light. “But now we’re probably as far from the war as possible. And I know it’s selfish to even _think_ about staying here and I hate hate _hate_ that and I don’t know what I hate most, this place or the war or _myself_ , but… I don’t think I hate Wing, and I know I don’t hate _you_.” Deadlock wasn’t sure when he’d squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them to peer down at Rodimus’, he felt like he was burning. “Everything is just so different and weird and sudden and intense and there’s so much idle time to just sit and _think_ and I just…” Deadlock realized he’d been rambling and stopped himself with a soft huff.

“No matter what I think about, my mind just keeps drifting back to you,” he said in a small voice, seeming to choke on his words. He closed his optics again, EM swimming with frustration.

Rodimus removed his hands from Deadlock’s to smooth his thumbs over the Decepticon’s hot cheeks. “I love you,” he said suddenly.

Deadlock’s optics nearly popped out of his helm, sparking with emotion, and his whole frame went rigid. His finials canted up as straight as they could go, and his field went blank. Rodimus would have pulled away if Deadlock didn’t suddenly have a crushing grip on his forearms.

“What did you say?” The Decepticon asked in a very small voice.

Rodimus smiled softly and tilted his head. “I love you, Deadlock. I’ve loved you since Rodion. I’ve loved you all this time. I loved you then, and I love you now. Nothing could ever change that.”

Before Rodimus could see the tears forming in his eyes, Deadlock grabbed the other’s helm to drag him into a kiss.

The prime sighed softly into the other’s mouth, the kiss desperate but surprisingly gentle, as if Deadlock was starving but still wanted to savor it. He trailed his fingers down Rodimus’ neck and over his shoulders until they reached his spoiler. Rodimus let out a short gasp and wrapped his arms around Deadlock to pull him closer. He pushed as much happiness and adoration as he could to curl around the two of them like a warm blanket.

Deadlock held Rodimus tightly; he didn’t want to ever let go. Not again. Never again. It seemed like Rodimus didn’t want to either. Being in the hot rod’s arms felt like coming home.

The two of them were content to stand in each other’s embrace in the kitchen in lieu of separating and moving somewhere else. He knew that Rodimus wasn’t his to keep - despite what the prime said, Deadlock knew that he’d given himself over to Wing. The knight was honest and open and unselfish and kind, all things Deadlock wasn’t. He did his best to keep his jealousy locked away; he didn’t want to sully the moment. For now, Rodimus was his, and he could pretend he always would be.

“Roddy,” he whispered against the other’s lips.

“Yeah?” came the soft reply, the prime’s breath hot as it mingled with his own.

“I… I want to be Drift again,” he said, filling his field with earnesty. “I want to be better. I want to be the mech you fell in love with.”

He reluctantly let Rodimus pull out of his embrace so he could meet his gaze, and Deadlock’s spark melted at the other speedster’s expression. Never had he seen anyone look at another person with so much love in their optics. He briefly wondered if Rodimus looked at Wing that way when Deadlock wasn’t looking. “Really?”

“Really really.”

“Drift,” Rodimus said aloud, letting the memories associated with it that he’d been suppressing rush back in a flood of affection. His smile was impossibly wide, so much that it hurt, but Rodimus didn’t care. He finally had what he’d wanted for so long. He rested his head against Deadlock’s… _Drift’s_ chest and closed his eyes, listening to the other’s spark spin. Drift held Rodimus a little tighter and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

“By the way…” Before he’d even realized he was speaking, the words had tumbled out of Drift’s mouth. “I love you too.”

A small sob escaped Rodimus, his spoiler shuddering. He pulled Drift as close as he could, their bodies perfectly slotting against one another. He reached up to trace the edges of Drift’s finials, the warrior gasping softly as they flicked in the other’s hands. In retaliation, Drift mimicked the actions on Rodimus’ spoiler, equally sensitive, and gently raked his talons over it. Rodimus’ knees gave out under him, but Drift quickly caught him and hefted the lighter mech into his arms, smiling because Rodimus didn’t let go of him. “Let’s go lie down,” he said softly. Rodimus just nodded absently, optics closed. Despite the haze taking over his processor, Drift noticed the energon still boiling on the stove, and quickly turned it off before carrying the prime to his bedroom, closing the door behind them.

Drift carefully lied Rodimus down on his berth. The smaller mech pulled the warrior down on top of him. “Drift,” he breathed, optics opening slightly as the Decepticon began kissing a line down his neck. The room was dim, shades drawn; the only sources of light were coming from their biolights and the Matrix crystal. Drift caressed Rodimus’ waist as the other speedster reached up to stroke his finials again. The Decepticon began to _purr_ , engine rumbling softly in response to the light touches. Drift rest his head on Rodimus’ shoulder and filled his field with all the happiness in his spark, cocooning Rodimus in it. This was the first time he could remember being happy in millenia, possibly since… since the last time they’d been together.

The warrior found that he was no longer able to hold back his tears. All those years in the Decepticons, he’d crushed his emotions into a tiny pinprick in the corner of his spark, and he could feel the little light growing, glowing, as he clung to the one whose soft words and warmth could always draw something tender and ardent out of Drift. “I missed you,” he hiccupped. Rodimus wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tight. “I missed you too, Drift.”

The two speedsters held each other close, Rodimus’ head on top of Drift’s as the Decepticon buried his face into the smaller mech’s neck, helm turned so that his finials wouldn’t get in the way. As Rodimus rubbed Drift’s back, the warrior whispered, “I wish this could last forever.”

“It can,” Rodimus whispered. “Stay here with me, and we can be together always.”  


Tears began to spill anew down Drift’s cheeks, and Rodimus tensed when he felt the wetness against his neck cables. “No,” Drift choked out. “We can’t.”

Rodimus’ face contorted in confusion. “Why not?” he asked softly. It only took one word for him to freeze.

“Wing.”

The crimson mech bit his lip and stared into the distance. “I - we - need to all have a talk. Drift,” he said, pulling on the mech so he could look him in the eye. “I love you,” he said firmly, optics still soft. “But I really like Wing too, and I… I didn’t promise him anything, but…” 

Drift nodded in understanding. “He’s made a place in your spark,” he murmured. Rodimus nodded.

As if on cue, they heard the front door open and the soft clicking of Wing’s pedes on the polished floor. “Hello? Anybody home?”

Wing was shocked when the door to the left-hand bedroom opened to reveal both of his roommates. They looked like they’d been… crying? _Both_ of them?

The jet looked fretfully between the two of them. “Is everything alright?” His wings shifted, field and body language betraying his worry. Although the Decepticon stayed where he was, Rodimus ran forward and threw his arms around the flier. “Everything is wonderful,” he breathed, EM full of joy and relief. Wing wrapped his arms around Rodimus, returning the embrace, but looked at Drift over the prime’s shoulder.

“Deadlock?”

A cautious smile. “You can call me Drift.”

Wing wasn’t sure what all he’d missed, but judging by the contentment and happiness that filled his apartment for the first time since he’d brought the Decepticon home, it seemed like Drift and Rodimus had finally worked things out. He reached out a hand, making a “come hither” motion with his fingers. Drift’s optics opened wide, and he pointed to himself. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Wing chuckled, Rodimus pulling himself away from the jet enough to hold his own hand out to Drift. “Come here.”

Drift moved forward hesitantly. The moment he was within arm’s reach, Rodimus and Wing simultaneously grabbed him and pulled him into their hug.

Maybe they could make this work after all.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sometimes I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear_  
>  _And I can't help but ask myself how much I'll let the fear take the wheel and steer_  
>  _Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there_  
>  _With open arms and open eyes, yeah_  
>  _Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there_  
>  _I'll be there_  
>  (Incubus, “Drive”)

Wing was the first to pull back from the embrace, albeit regretfully. “As much as I would love to stay and hold the two of you in my arms forever, Dai Atlas wishes to see you two.” Rodimus frowned in confusion, but the second part of Wing’s statement had gone right over Drift’s head. His optics to cycle open wide in surprise. Wing wanted him too…?

Rodimus jostled him a bit, untangling himself from the white mechs. “Drift?”

“Huh?” he snapped back to the real world at the sound of Rodimus’ voice. “What?”

The prime chuckled softly. “Dai Atlas needs to see us.” Drift immediately scowled. “What does he want?” Both of them looked to Wing, who, judging by his expression, knew exactly what was going on. “It is best if you come and see for yourselves.”

\--

From their past experiences, both Drift and Rodimus had deduced that for anyone other than a Knight, being summoned to the Citadel meant nothing good.

Wing led them inside what appeared to be some sort of control room. A holographic sphere - likely the surface of the planet - was projected in the middle of the brightly lit space, a jet with a paint job similar to Wing’s tapping away at its console. Dai Atlas stood on the other side of the projector, arms crossed. His signature scowl appeared even deeper than usual as he turned to look at the three mechs entering the room.

As Wing and the two speedsters came closer, Axe, Dai Atlas’ second-in-command, explained their reason for being summoned without looking away from what appeared to be a large communications console . “We’re picking up a widespread transmission. Not sure from where exactly.”

Staring with narrowed optics at the group of newcomers, Dai Atlas added, “And it’s in code.”

Wing stepped forward to look around the larger Knight. “Any idea what it says, Axe?” Regretfully, he shook his head. “None.”

Dai Atlas gave Drift a pointed look. “We were of the opinion that YOU could help.”

The warrior schooled the look of surprise on his face into one of seriousness. “Me? No.” He glared at the console. “I’ve got no idea what it says.”

When Dai Atlas looked to Rodimus, the Prime bit his tongue. He didn’t know what it said exactly, but he _did_ know that it was Decepticon code - he recognized a few of the glyphs. From what he could make out, the message wasn’t a friendly one, and he wasn’t sure why Drift would try to cover it up, but he couldn’t leave his new comrades completely in the dark, especially if they could all be in danger.

“I can make out a little,” Rodimus sighed. Drift narrowed his optics, clenching his fists. How dare he-!

“I’m not sure if it was directed at us.” Not a lie. He couldn’t tell for _certain_. “It could be an unshielded communication between the slavers and another party. It… did include our species, though.”

The room went silent.

“ _What **about** our species?_ ” Dai Atlas seethed. Rodimus shrunk back, trying to keep his spoiler from quivering, afraid to be caught in his fib. “I d-don’t know. I recognize some of the symbols, but I can’t completely understand it. All I know is that it has to do with Cybertronians and I… I think they’re looking for us.”

Drift’s armor unclenched a little. He was glad that Rodimus didn’t rat him out, but he was still worried that one of the Knights would put two and two together. The vast majority of the city were scholarly types, clever and decisive. Luckily, no one seemed to have questioned it. They might be smart, but they were also trusting.

Although he looked both disappointed and suspicious, Dai Atlas dismissed them. As soon as the three were outside the Citadel, Drift turned to the Knight and the other speedster. “Let’s go home,” he rumbled, keeping his voice down. “ _Now._ ”

Wing and Rodimus shared a look before transforming. The urgency in Drift’s voice meant that they weren’t going to take a leisurely walk.

\--

Once they were back in the privacy of Wing’s apartment, the Knight locked the door as Rodimus turned on Drift, waving his arms around. “What was all that about?” he cried.

“SHH SHH SHH!!!” Drift hissed, rushing forward to clap a hand over Rodimus’ mouth. “Keep your voice down!”

“I agree with Rodimus,” Wing said, stalking forward and pulling Rodimus out of Drift’s grasp. His voice had a dangerous edge to it. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Drift sighed, reaching up to rub at one of his finials, trying to calm himself down. He turned away from his roommates. “It was Decepticon code,” he growled. “It was from the head slaver. I don’t know how he figured out how to use the code, but the message said that he struck a deal with someone involving my “escape” from this planet, and to come to the surface and meet him tonight within the vicinity of their headquarters.”

Wing’s face was drawn, optics furrowed. One arm was crossed over his body, the other resting on top of it, a fist pressed to his mouth. His field was carefully neutral. Rodimus was in clear distress, spoiler high and practically vibrating. “Drift! Why didn’t you tell everyone?!”

The dual-colored speedster crossed his arms, expression judgmental. “They would’ve immediately thrown me into jail!” he sniped. “I can’t do anything to help if I’m locked up!”

Loosening his stance, Wing moved forward and gripped Drift’s shoulder. “We need to go up and find out exactly what they want.”

“No!” Drift immediately insisted, a rare flash of distress coloring his field. He grabbed Wing’s armor with one hand, Rodimus’ with his other. He looked between the two mechs he cared about most. “They only want me. If they see you two, they’ll kill you, or worse.” He shuddered at the very thought of them crammed into one those tiny cells, probably starving until they were sold as slaves, tortured, stripped for parts… or a combination of the three. “You _have_ to stay here.”

Rodimus’ lip quivered, and he put both of his hands over Drift’s one. “I already told you, I’m not leaving you. Not again.”

As much as his spark told him to keep Rodimus at his side, his processor knew that if he brought Rodimus along he’d only be endangering him. Drift let go of Wing to use the freed hand to cup the shorter mech’s chin, tilting his head into a gentle, chaste kiss. “You won’t be leaving me,” he whispered. “You’ll be kept safe. Plus, you’ll have Wing to keep you company.” Drift smiled a little ruefully, reaching back out to draw Wing closer to him and Rodimus until they were all in a sort of huddle. “It’s not like I’ll be gone forever.”

“Better not be,” Wing growled, but the worry in his field belied his gruff tone. His face quickly softened into something more wistful. “After all, it was finally looking like you maybe wanted to stay.”

Drift straightened, pulling back completely from the other two mechs, leaving them both looking a little worried and confused, until the warrior did the completely unexpected and drew the knight into a passionate kiss, like a physical promise. When he drew back, Wing looked both surprised and a little dazed. Drift smiled. “I think I will,” he whispered. Without drawing away, he turned his head and pulled Rodimus into the embrace and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the mechs that did the same for me.”

Two mirrored smiles fell upon him, warming Drift to the core. “You’re special, Drift,” Wing said, reaching up to brush one of the darker mech’s finials. The warrior gave a little shudder. “I’ve never met anyone like you. Nor you, Rodimus,” he added, turning to his left to peck the prime on the cheek. Rodimus blushed and butted his head against Wing’s gently. “You either,” the Autobot replied.

Drift gave them one last squeeze before he pulled away. “I better go talk to them,” he murmured regretfully, frame tight with apprehension. “I _will_ be back, though. I promise.”

“Please be careful, Drift,” Wing pleaded. The warrior nodded, and then turned to Rodimus, whose optics had begun to spark. “I love you Roddy,” Drift said, flooding his field with all the affection he had in his spark for the scarlet hot rod. Rodimus bit his lip, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I love you too,” he choked out. “See you soon.”

“See you,” Drift responded. With one more parting kiss to both mechs, he set out to the surface.

After Drift had left, Rodimus and Wing didn’t budge. They simply held each other tightly and prayed that Drift would return safely.


End file.
